


My Boss

by Tyndale



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-31 02:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyndale/pseuds/Tyndale
Summary: Scott is an aspiring web designer who has fallen in love with his boss Mitchell Goldman and the young man has every right to be smitten. Goldman is charming, elegant, and the CEO of a very promising web design company. As wonderful as his boss may appear, there are dark secrets inside of Goldman and once they're revealed, Scott's life will be forever changed!





	1. The Boss

My Boss

I'm not too old for this, right? I'm not too old to fall head over heels for my boss, am I? I'm twenty-five and I've been around the block before. I'm not a slut but I've had sex and have been in a relationship to know the ins and outs of what it means to be in love. Maybe I am too old for stuff like this but I can't seem to help it. I'm in love with my boss. His name is Mitchell Goldman. Hell, even his name makes me swoon. I'm sure he could have been a basketball player in another life. I think his best feature is his stature. He knows how to use it to get what he wants and with his lean, long figure there is nothing he can't wear. In my opinion, Mitchell is the type of guy you introduce to everyone you know, especially your family because he's incredibly charming, strong, and sophisticated.

"How's the design," Mitchell stands behind my chair. He bends forward, leveling his head with mine in order to peer over my shoulder.

"I'm almost done with it, sir," I straighten my back, hoping he didn't notice my slouching posture. I hate looking bad in front of him.

He turns to eye me, his face is still leveled with mine and his breath is calm and steady. I keep my gaze on the computer screen while feeling very intimidated. When Mitchell stares at me, I'm instantly shaken. I feel like a high schooler again being eyed by my dream crush. I know it's stupid to feel this way. I'm twenty-five years old. I should be able to handle myself like a professional. However, when it comes to my boss, I'm a nervous wreck.

"Call me Goldman, Scott. It's okay to call me Goldman," after he's done correcting me in the calmest way, his eyes switch back to the screen. "Anyway, the layout is good. Let me take a look at the other web screens."

His hand reaches for the mouse. I try quickly to move my palm away but we end up touching. It's the quickest contact, lasting maybe seconds, but just the caress of his skin warms my entire face. I'm so relieved he is no longer facing me but instead is scanning over my partially finished website.

"The clients will be pleased. Like I said, the design and format is good but my only complaint is the color," He removes his hand from the mouse, " Remember, the client is selling quilts. Quilts are colorful so make the site represent the product." Mitchell straightens himself until his standing tall and powerful behind my chair.

"Yes, sir," Damn it, I did the sir thing again.

Before I can correct myself, his warm palm on my shoulder leaves me speechless. Feeling his touch always causes a brief shut down of my entire body.

"It's Goldman," Mitchell pats my shoulder, "Email me when you're done with the website so I can clear it for release. Understood?"

"Yes, sss―Goldman," I make sure not to say sir again. My boss seems proud of my ability to correct myself because he pats me once more on the shoulder, then I listen as he walks away.

After work, I head home to my small apartment. For five years, I have been employed as a web designer for Goldman and Shells production and design company. Of course, my boss is head of the business but he's not like Shells who sits in the office all day. Mitchell takes the time to speak to everyone. He has his nose in every part of the company. Even if there's no time for one-to-one talk, like what happened earlier today, he still manages to stay in contact with the staff either through calls or emails.

I think this is another reason why I love him so much. He gives off this charismatic, leadership vibe. The control and power he emits drives me wild. I enjoy seeing him monitor the room while surveying everyone's work and complementing or critiquing when necessary. I've never felt I could work for anyone else but him. And I've had a few jobs and a few different bosses, but Mitchell makes me want to work hard. I want to please him and make him happy.

If I told anyone this, I know they'd think I was crazy. But I'm kind of a loner by nature. The only person I talk to regularly is my mom. She stays a few miles away and we meet up occasionally. Tonight, I know she'll call. It's Friday and her curiosity peaks during this time. Like a doting mother, she'll want to know what I've been up to all week and if I have plans for the weekend.

As I wait for her call, I decide to check the mail on the kitchen counter. For the last few days, I've been arriving home around nine so I'd get my mail out of the box but wouldn't bother to look through the mess. As usual, I spot the lights and cable bill which isn't too much of a concern. Underneath the junk mail, however, I notice a small envelope. The date is stamped for this Monday. But this isn't the reason why I'm tearing the envelope open like a frantic lunatic. My boss' name is on the front of the mail and anything from him is worth reading.

Good evening everyone!

Thank you for all your hard work and dedication. I and Mr. Shells would like to celebrate your accomplishments with a gathering at the office on Friday, December 16 at 10:30pm. You may dress casual and if you would like, please bring a guest or two. Thank you again for all your hard work. I and Mr. Shells hope to see you at our wonderful celebration in honor of you!

Sign,

Mitchell Goldman and Crest Shells

I drop the letter as I check my watch. It's nine fifteen. As quickly as I can, I dress myself for the party. I don't finish getting dressed until around ten thirty. Then, it takes me thirty minutes to get to work, so when I finally arrive everyone is dancing and drinking. I appear out of place because I decided on a suit and tie. I know the letter said casual but I also know Goldman will be here and I wanted to look good. Casual doesn't make me stand out. My casual consists of white shirts, dark blue jeans, and regular sneakers. At least when I wear a suit, I look slightly above average but not that much.

"Scotty boy, you made it," one of my coworkers shouts from among the laughing and dancing crowd. As the person walks closer, I realize who called my name. Richard works in the cubicle in front of me. I really can't say that I like him but he's always been nice. And although he's never been cruel, I still haven't warmed up to his perky personality.

"Hey, Richard," I kindly greet him, although I want to badly walk away.

"I thought you weren't going to show," he takes a sip of his drink.

"and why are you dressed like that? The letter said casual."

"I know. I know, Richard," the last thing I want is for him to state the obvious. I realize I overdid it with my clothes but I'm not interested in what my coworkers think. I'm more worried about how Goldman will feel when he sees me. Hopefully, he'll like that I dressed up for him rather than view me as a odd ball like everyone else.

"Hey, let me get you something to drink," he offers, "Do you want something strong?"

I'm not really thirsty but I'll tell him I am so he'll buzz off. " Yeah, something strong, please."

He nods with a smile, " Gotcha you."

When he's a few feet away, I start walking toward the back of the office. In order to have this party, I notice our cubicles were moved out of the way. This couldn't have been an easy job for anyone. And I imagine it must have been stressful for my boss to have all this stuff arranged for us. As I think about Mitchell, the need to see him at this party grows even stronger. Frantically, I start looking, hoping to find him somewhere in this hectic, loud crowd.

After a few minutes of searching, I don't find my boss. Towards the back of the office, there is an exit that leads outside to the company garden. I decide to leave out the back door and just walk towards the front without detection. The last thing I want is to be spotted by Richard and then pulled back into the party. As the door closes behind me, I'm reminded of how pathetic my life feels. I've been a runner all my life. While others were social butterflies, I would be the shy loner. I'd only talk when spoken to and somehow I would made others feel uncomfortable. It's not because I'm ugly or anything. I never get those type of complaints. People actually think I'm quite nice looking, which makes them wonder why someone so handsome doesn't have anything to say.

"No, I think it'll work just fine. You have to give me about an hour or so. I'm not going to disappoint. You know me. I'm looking into a new one right now. You'll like what I get you. I'm coming with the package soon. Trust me."

I freeze after hearing the discussion. I'm standing behind my boss. He's outside in a blazer, wearing a stunning, smooth suit just like me. I smile to myself, feeling overjoyed that my intuition about Mitchell was right. He likes suits and I bet he would like mine. Although I'm excited to see him, I'm extremely nervous. This isn't like when we're at work. Mitchell right now is not on the clock and neither am I. Maybe he'll treat me different―and not in a good way. No, he wouldn't be cruel. I've been working for my boss for five years and I don't want to believe he would be hurtful. Still, the man standing in front of me is Mitchell Goldman and his name alone is intimidating. I think I should speak to him another time, especially since I can't seem to gather my nerves.

As I quietly walk by, I notice he ends his phone call. I lower my head as if doing so will make me unrecognizable. My boss instantly spots me because he's heading in the same direction I am. When he calls my name, I stop my stride and in seconds, we are standing beside each other.

"Scott, glad to see you," he touches my shoulder and nothing ever prepares my body to handle his caress easily. Just as before, a hot heat quickly rushes to my face.

"Sir, I mean, Goldman, thank you," I offer my gratitude.

"Were you heading out? Because it looks as if you were."

"I...I was…" is my pathetic admission. As I stand beside him, I wonder if he can sense my shoulder is trembling. God, I pray he doesn't notice.

"Good, I am, too. Mr. Shells is the dignified host since I provided all the catering and hard labor. I was going to head home myself."

"Oh," I pause before saying, "well, have a good night, Goldman."

He lets my shoulder go, "I know this might sound odd but I could use some company. And you know, the website you emailed to me was really great. We could chat about it at my place, if you're up for it."

As nervous as I am, I manage to make eye contact. "Yes, of course."

Right after agreeing to go with Mitchell to his place, I am offered a ride in his long, silver Lincoln Continental. As he drives, I can't keep my eyes on anything but him. Like a love stricken fool, I watch the street lights cast shadows along his firm jaw line and smooth cheekbones. I listen to him talk about the apartment he lives in near the water. It's nice hearing his voice, smelling his cologne, and watching his mouth move after every word and sentence.

Like he had explained in the car, his apartment is indeed huge. It resembles more of a loft than an average apartment. With its high ceilings and spacious rooms, the living area makes me feel even more in love with Mitchell. Just by looking at his things, I can tell he's a perfectionist. Everything has its rightful place. The books on the shelf are meticulous aligned. The color scheme of the dwelling is warm and inviting, and also balanced with natural hues that clearly emphasize elegance. He pairs his whites with his browns and his blacks with his silvers. The apartment is a home decor's dream and I personally find it breathtaking.

"Have a seat. I'll get you something to drink," Mitchell flaunts his hospitality and I swoon over him even more.

I sit down on the creamy colored sofa, enjoying the way the cool leather feels against my hands. I stroke the fabric, noticing right away this isn't fake but one hundred percent leather.

"I hope gin is okay," he comes in with two clear glasses.

"Yes, it's fine," I tell him.

Mitchell sits beside me and then hands over the drink. "You'll have to forgive me but you are single, right?"

My heart starts to race a bit faster. To calm myself, I drink from the glass, enjoying immensely how the strong liquor burns my chest. I answer him after another sip, "I am. Why...why do you ask if I'm single?"

He grins, "I didn't know how late I could keep you over."

"Oh," I take another sip of the gin. His answer deflates my heart. God, I wish he knew how much I love him. After all these years, there's this hope in me that he feels something. No, what am I saying? I can't believe he'd want me. I don't even know if he likes men. I doubt he's into guys.

"Well, should we…" I stop mid-sentence. There's a knock on the door.

"Do you mind getting that?" Mitchell stands to his feet, " That's a friend of mine. I'm going to get him a glass so he can join us."

I agree to my boss' request. When I open the door, I'm expecting to see a man who is equally as charming and nice as Mitchell. Instead, the person at the door is short and greasy looking, and he's pointing a gun directly in my face. I step back into the house, my hands are raised up, signaling to him not to shoot.

"Is this that package you were talking about, Goldman?"

I turn my head to watch my boss sleek in with a grin on his face. He slowly walks over to hand the gun-wielding lunatic a glass of brandy.

"Yeah, isn't he something nice? Now, come inside and put the gun down. He isn't going anywhere."

"What," this is the only thing I can say. I'm scared out of my mind and I don't know why Mitchell said I wasn't going anywhere. Am I a prisoner here in his apartment? Is he trying to say he has no intentions of letting me leave?

"Go in the living room or I'm blowing your ass away," the greasy, mustache wearing guy threatens.

I can't move. My legs feel like they're broken. I know I should listen to his orders because he has a gun but I really can't move. My entire body is petrified, as if I'm like one of those stone statues. Even when the man puts the gun to my temple, I still can't budge. I'm so frightened, I think I'm going to urinate in my pants. And God, I don't want to do that. Clenching my eyes closed, I try my best to follow his order but my legs only manage to give out on me. I collapse to the floor, falling heavy and hard.

"No, no, no, you little shit. Get your ass up," he grabs my hair, yanking it roughly, and immediately I let out a yell.

Mitchell comes over to me. His stature, and how it looms over me, makes my insides twist but also my heart lessens its quick rush. I'm in complete fear of my boss right now but in some way, at least I know his touch. I know the feel of his palm but this stranger with the gun, I don't know him and feeling his hand brings my fear to a place it has never been. When Mitchell pulls me up by my collar, I find myself clinging to him. I grab his trousers, hoping that he'll keep me from this crazed gunman. But soon I realize, my boss is just as rough as this stranger. He drags me back into the living room, pulling my hair until I'm screaming again but much louder. He doesn't care that I'm hurting. He doesn't care I'm being dragged across his floor; right inside the very apartment he proudly spoke to me about while sitting in his Lincoln. I feel like whoever I was speaking to in the car, isn't the same man yanking me into his bedroom. This man who is pushing me onto his bed isn't Mitchell Goldman.

"Take your clothes off," He commands as he stands over me.

"Please," is the only word I can formulate with my trembling lips.

"Take them off or I'm yanking them off of you. Understand?" my boss starts to loosen his tie.

"I...I...can't," is the truth I tell him.

He keeps his promise. My pants are unbuckled and yanked down to my ankles. My boxers are forced down as well. I don't fight. I don't scream. My arms are clenched at my side with my hands balled into a fist. I can't understand why someone I care so much about is doing something like this to me. For five years, I listened to this man praise me for all my accomplishments. And for five years, the hands yanking and tearing my clothes are the same hands that would touch my shoulder gently. His abuse towards me leaves my insides bundled so badly I feel the need to throw up. I feel sick all over.

"Don't get so damn emotional about being naked," he sits down on the bed and lays beside me. I'm pulled on top of his chest. I tighten my muscles, feeling completely terrified by his hands touching the small of my back. What once was a warm touch, now feels ice cold on my skin.

"You're going to have to get used to it. I suppose I can show you how."

I'm angled over his crotch and I know it's not because he just wants me to simply feel it. He's going to use it. He's going to show me whatever he's talking about I have to get used to. The fear triples inside of me at an alarming rate. My heart is beating so hard, I can hear its rhythm in my ears.

"Please, Goldman, I-" my voice cracks as I start crying on top of him. I bury my face against his neck, praying to a God I know must hate me.

Suddenly, his cold hand is under my chin. He forces me to look into his eyes. I stare at him and straight away, I feel like I'm staring into the face of a monster. Of course, he stares back but he's emotional, almost as if he's disappointed. Then, I notice the hardness between his legs is gone.

"Where's that eager stare you would always give me and only me, huh? Now, you got my dick soft with your cry baby shit."

I'm thrown to the side, literally pushed off his chest to lay on his right. I quickly move away, tugging my hands and feet into myself, holding my body in a fetal position. I cry beside him, believing this will somehow keep my boss from hurting me. I didn't realize it before, but I assume Mitchell has a soft spot concerning my feelings. He doesn't like to see me cry and I don't think he likes to see others hurt me. I suppose only he can be the one to make me cry and scream. But then there's this side of him, where in his sick mind, I figure he wants me to enjoy this somehow. But how could anyone enjoy this?

"Stop crying," he warns, "it's annoying."

I hold myself tighter. I won't push my luck. He spared me because I tugged at his emotions, but the anger in his voice has a terror in it that signals to me he's dead serious. So, like he ordered, I suppress my cries by biting my bottom lip and forcing my pain deep down inside of me.

"You will have to get used to being naked. You will have to get used to all of this. Now, get your clothes on. You're working your first night."

My clothes are thrown on top of me. I don't move because I'm too afraid. What he just said caused all the blood inside of me to run cold. God, please, someone help me! Please!


	2. Disconnect

Once I have clothes on, Goldman catches hold of the collar of my shirt. He shoves me forward, pushing my trembling body toward the open door. I walk out of his bedroom while trying desperately not to start crying again.

"Well, well, well, I guess you've gone soft on me, Goldman. Shit, that boy should be dripping cum from his ass all the way to his legs."

The guy with the gun grins at me. It's one of those disgusting, perverted grins. Seeing his wide, twisted smile instantly causes an unspeakable fear to crawl beneath my skin. If Goldman wasn't standing here beside me, I believe this man would have done horrible things to my body.

"Shut up, Luther," my boss forces me to the couch, "I'm not in the mood for your trash talk. I need this boy working tonight, so get Ron on the phone."

"I'm a step ahead of you, pal. I called Ron and he's waiting for the goods. The stupid idiot was damn near about to scream his fucking head off when I told him."

As I listen to them talk, I realize I'm prepared to do anything to get out of here.

"Do you think he should change clothes," I hear Luther ask. My head is lowered but I can sense his eyes bearing down on me.

"Ron isn't going to complain. The suit looks nice, anyway. I'm more worried if he'll perform well. I couldn't get shit out of him in the bedroom."

"Oh, really? I thought you said he'd be a good one."

Suddenly, I feel Goldman's large hand against my cheek. The gentle caress makes me raises my gaze to stare teary-eyed at him.

"You're a good one, aren't you, Scott?"

Every part of my body feels stiff. Staring at Goldman's green eyes was always hard for me. And it was all because of my feelings. I cared so much. And yet, now, his gaze petrifies me for another reason. I can't look at him because I'm terrified of this man. I don't know who I'm looking at anymore. Is this the real Goldman? Is this the person who admired all my hard work and told me every day, he was thankful I chose to work at his company?

"Tell me you're a good one!"

Goldman quickly grabs my hair, holding it tightly with his fingers. Without any hesitation, he pins my head against the sofa cushion. I release a startled yelp as I feel his fingers clench tighter. He doesn't say anything as he applies more pressure. And the more I scream, the harder he pulls. In a split second, I understand what he wants.

"I'm a good one," I sob the words against the sofa.

Goldman slowly untangles his fingers from my hair. Luther begins to laugh and I can hear him walking over to us. Soon, I feel his hand stroking my cheek. I desperately want to move away but I fear my rejection would cause Luther to retaliate. And I don't what to see the horror he can do.

"Yeah, just look at him. Nice, brown hair and pretty, blue eyes. His body is sweet, too," Luther doesn't touch my cheek anymore. Instead, he decides to sit beside me on the couch. I'm still laying on my right, so when he sits down, my head is near the side of his huge thigh. I smell his odor. It's harsh and burns my nose. I hate the stench of cigarettes.

"You know, Goldman, you owe me. And I wouldn't mind taking a hit at this one just to make us even. 'Cause the more I look at him, the more I want this pretty boy. You could leave me and him right here on the couch. We'd have a good time." Luther pats my head, " Isn't that right? You'd ride big Luther's cock, wouldn't you?"

His words cause me to feel so much terror that I urinate. I hear Luther's laughter again. It's a deep, heinous chuckle. The sound of it, I believe, will forever be forged in my brain.

"You weren't lying about the boy being squeamish. Shit, Goldman! What the fuck can you do with him? He's like a goddamn baby, pissing on himself."

Goldman's hand grabs my collar, pulling me to sit upright on the couch. I know this sounds strange but I'm somewhat relieved to feel Goldman's touch. Although, he's rough when he grabs me, I believe Luther would have been even rougher if given his way.

" I told you before," my boss lifts me from the couch by yanking on my shirt, " you have to get used to being naked. You have to get used to this."

While I stand on my feet in front of them, I feel even more helpless. I have this terrible feeling that I'm going to be used in a way no person wants to be. I don't think my body is going to be mine anymore. Plus, with the way Goldman keeps talking, I believe this isn't just a one night thing. And this is what scares me the most―it's the thought he's not going to let me go.

"Now, none of my clothes will fit you because you're not my size," Goldman releases my dress shirt. He stares me up and down, rubbing his hairless, firm chin in the process. "I think I might have some shorts to fit you but the shirt will be big."

"How about a thong and bow tie? Ron would like it," Luther stands beside my boss. He's staring too but his stare is completely lustful.

I watch Goldman switch his gaze to Luther. He looks infuriated, like what he just heard heated his blood. "Stop fucking playing around. You know I can't do anything like that. I'm not walking him through a hallway with a thong and bow tie on. See, you think this shit is a game! I'm tired of you making this seem like a fucking walk in the park!"

Luther returns the fury, " Don't get cocky in front of me because of the boy. I introduced your ass to this. Without me, you'd still have your dick in your hand, begging for a chance at something worthwhile!"

"You think I'm trying to impress him," my boss narrows his eyes. His voice reeks of a challenging pitch, as if he's ready to fight Luther right in front of me.

"I think you're trying to inflate yourself for a few minutes of dick play with him. That's what I think. Too bad, you went over your head and this kid isn't worth a damn speck of dirt."

The tension is so thick in the room, I'm expecting the men to start punching each other. Instead of a battle of fists, they turn to look at me. I swallow hard, feeling very worried what they are going to do next.

"Let's just face it. We got to break him before he gets to Ron," Luther takes off his jacket. I almost think their bickering made them both come to some sort of realization about me.

"I agree. Or he won't be any good at all," My boss starts to remove his suit jacket.

Before I can even take a step to run, they are tearing at my clothes. Luther yanks my pants and boxers down to my ankles. Goldman pops the buttons off my shirt as he pulls it down from my shoulders. As I stand in front of them, I shut my eyes, unable to watch as they undress. But I can hear them. I hear the sound of their zippers and the rustle of their clothes. Then, I listen as they take a seat on the couch. My eyes open wide when I feel strong hands grab my bare waist, yanking me to sit down. I'm forced to sit naked on Goldman's lap, my trembling legs straddle his hips and to my absolute dread, Luther is closely seated beside us.

Immediately, the tears I'm crying blurs my vision. I can barely make out Goldman's chiseled face. I can't tell if he's smiling or frowning. The only thing I'm certain of is what he and Luther are going to do to me. As I sit in Goldman's lap, my weeping becomes louder. I know he spoke of hating to hear me cry, so this is my only defense. It's the only thing that might keep me from the evil of what they plan to do.

"Stop with the shit already," Luther groans with annoyance.

"Give him a minute," Goldman holds my waist. He moves my lower half against his, as if doing so will sooth me. It only makes me cry harder. Why can't he see I don't want this. I don't want any of this!

"Come on, pretty boy," my boss says gently, "You can't feel so bad about having fun with two good guys. I'm not going to hurt you. Neither is Luther. Just relax for me."

Goldman moves his hand up and along my spine. As his fingers glide upward, I arch my back, attempting with great effort to avoid the careful stroke of his palm. Eventually, his hand stops at the upper part of my spine and with force, he applies pressure which causes me to unintentionally lean into him.

"Please," I crumble and lose myself against his chest. " Please, Goldman. Please," I sob uncontrollably. "Please don't. Please," I beg.

He sighs loudly. I know I've pushed his patience. But I'd rather take a beating than be forced into something like this.

"Luther," Goldman shifts on the couch. He positions me more on his thighs than directly on his dick. I'm relieved to no longer have the long, hard muscle pressed against me. "Give me a few minutes with him alone."

"Man, Goldman, my cock is aching for this guy. Let's just…"

"I said give me a fucking few minutes with him. Do you want me to kick your ass? I will kick your fucking fat ass all the way back to your damn car, if need be."

The thought of Luther having his way makes me press myself closer to my boss. I bury my face to his neck, noticing right away the sharp contrast of Goldman's smell compared to Luther's. There's familiarity here―on his skin and on his hands. It's a destructive familiarity but I'm willing to accept it, especially if this means I can escape the fate of being abused by Luther.

"Fine! Fuck you," I hear Luther curse. I listen as he gathers his clothes and within a few seconds, the lunatic is gone.

"Okay, Scott. I normally don't do this so early in the process but you're like a fragile, baby bird. And well, I suppose you knowing how things will go may help you."

I slowly raise my head from his neck but I don't stare at him. I keep my head down.

"You see, it's simple really. You're mine, Scott. I own you now. Your body is mine. Your soul is mine. Your entire existence is mine. And as my property, I won't let anyone hurt you." He slides his slender finger under my chin. I'm directed to stare into his green, dark eyes.

"And as my property, it's my responsibility to protect you because you're no good to me all broken and used like a dirty condom. So, I'm always going to be here for you. Always. I'm not like some of those stupid guys that leave you to do your own business and collect the cash later. No, I sit and watch and make sure, anyone who has you treats you well. No AIDS. No HIV. They have to wear a condom on you. Those are my rules and they're followed each and every time. So, do you understand things now? Look, Scott, I'm going to take care of you. I am."

Nothing he said makes me feel any better. The tears I'm crying continue to rush down my cheeks, sliding to land on my bare thighs. In an instant, a sick feeling takes hold of my gut. I want to fight this. With everything in my soul and heart, I want to fight. But I know there's no fighting this.

"Please, Goldman, don't," I bring my hands up to my eyes, as I sense pure helplessness take over. " I...I...I'll do anything...I'll give you anything. Please," I'm trembling in his lap. Absolute anguish has seized my entire body. "Please let me go."

My hands are yanked down to my side. I'm pushed back onto his cock and my chest is pressed against Goldman's. I'm alarmed to sense how quickly his emotions can change from calmness to rage. Petrified, I keep my head down but within seconds, he grabs my chin and forces me to stare into his eyes.

"I'm not letting you go! What don't you understand? You are mine. I own your ass now!"

"Please," I whimper.

"And like all the other boys, you'll call me ice daddy. I'm not Goldman to you anymore. Do you understand?"

I shake my head. "Please," I cry, " Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I promise, Goldman! I promise!"

He clenches my chin so hard, I let out a yell. Immediately, I'm slammed to the sofa's cushion with my legs curled around Goldman's waist. He yanks me toward his dick, sliding the protruding tip along my entrance. I want him to stop. God, please make him stop!

"You don't get it, huh? Well, then I'll make you get it!"

I clench my eyes closed. His firm and thick head press further against me, and all the blood in my body rages like fire. As quickly as I can, I shout, " I understand! I understand! Ice daddy, I understand!"

He doesn't penetrate me. I feel Goldman moving away, literally uncoiling my legs from around him. When I'm free from his touch, I curl myself into a ball on the couch. It's something about this moment that shreds my heart apart. I had always dreamed of being intimate with my boss. I dreamt he'd be gentle and loving. And that we'd spend the entire night in each other's arms. But just now, feeling him like this, shattered all those dreams into pieces. I never want this man to touch me that way again. Never!

"That's right, pretty boy. Ice daddy is glad you understand now. I'm going to have you get dressed and you, me, and Luther are going to see Ron. Are we clear?"

I comply because I don't want to be hurt again. " Yes," I say.

"Yes, what?" he corrects.

"Yes," I sniffle quietly, " Ice daddy."


	3. Not Only Me

As I walk to the Lincoln, pacing myself a few feet ahead, I overhear complaints about my appearance.

"This look won't fly with Ron," Luther bitterly points out.

I'm in vanilla colored shorts with a blue, button-down business shirt. Earlier, Goldman tucked the shirt in for me while grumbling about how I made such a simple encounter so complicated.

"Then, what do you suggest asshole?"

"Let's take him back to his place. Get him nicely dressed. I know we're doing things a little different but this will give us a chance to see if everything's clear."

My muscles begin to fidget. I almost bite down on my tongue, clearly overwhelmed by the possibility of fleeing. Unlike with Goldman's place, I know the layout of my apartment. I'm familiar with the window in my bathroom and also the knife I hide under my mattress because I'm afraid of being burglarized in the night.

"Fine. We'll get him some new clothes and then we're going to Ron's."

Goldman opens the car door, then shoves me to the backseat. I watch as he slides into the car. As the vehicle begins to move, Goldman reaches for something hidden in a storage compartment. He shakes the box container while giving a devious, half smile. Immediately, I turn to the window. My chest feels weighed down. I can barely breathe.

"Ron likes Magnums. Hope you're fine with it, Scott."

I continue to stare out the window, watching each street pole as we drive. I want to believe there's a way out of this. If I can get to my apartment, I know I can free myself. Maybe my neighbors will notice something peculiar. Or I could scream for help or bang on the walls, causing people to become alarmed. Whatever I do, I have to time my escape just right. Because if I don't, I understand Goldman and Luther won't hesitate to hurt me.

"You're fine with it...aren't you?"

There's no resisting him. Reluctantly, I answer, "I'm fine with it, ice daddy."

He laughs, the sound cynical and carefree. He leans over for a kiss but I move out of the way, causing him to kiss air. Goldman glares for a moment. Then, he clenches my chin, forcing us to share glances.

"I'll kiss you whenever I please," he orders lightly, "And anyway don't be so bitter." Goldman gently releases his hold, " You don't know this, but I have men who would die to be in your shoes."

I believe his arrogance is talking. Who in their right mind would consider this encounter a privilege? I huddle against the car door, anxious to put more distance between us. To my relief, Goldman retreats to his side but keeps a steady stare in my direction. For the entire car ride, Goldman watches, only occasionally looking away to give Luther directions. Eventually, the Lincoln parks in front of my building. I scan the parking lot, noticing right away the lack of vehicles. My neighbors, on both sides of me, aren't even home.

"I'll wait here," Luther announces, "but after ten minutes, if I don't hear from you, I'm coming in there."

"I'll be fine, idiot," he flings open the door, "just get Ron on the phone and tell him we'll be a few minutes late."

I'm dragged across the backseat by my arm until I fall to the curb. I don't have even a second to recover before I feel a hand grasp my forearm, yanking me up to stand. Once on my feet, I'm shoved toward the dimly lit apartment building. I can hear Goldman's steps, their sound loud and frightening.

" When we get in here, go straight to your bedroom. I want you to put on some clothes and then we're leaving."

Opening the front door reveals my apartment as a black space. I'm shoved in the back before I can turn on a light. Right at the door, I fall to my knees, causing my house keys to skid across the ground.

"Get up," Goldman orders as he turns on a light.

I lift to stand in front of him. He's watching closely, exactly as he did in the car. "Where's your bedroom?"

My finger points to the room. I'm ordered to start moving and before he can shove my back, I walk in the direction on my own. As we make our way there, the fear inside worsens. My heart is beating so loud, I imagine Goldman can hear it. I turn on the bedroom light, revealing my most private area to him. He walks in confidently, eventually stopping to stand between my bed and closet.

"Come over here and pick out some clothes."

As I walk over, I try to think of a weapon in my closet. A shirt could be used to strangle him. I could tie the ends around his neck. Plus, I have plenty of shoes. I could throw them at him, causing a distraction long enough for me to run. But I worry those things may not work. Goldman is stronger and taller, so I need something powerful. What I really need is hidden under my mattress. It's a 6 inch blade and I keep it on the left side, closest to my pillows. I chose a knife because I'm terrified of guns. However, I don't even know if I can use the damn blade properly.

"Hurry up, Scott!"

Hearing his command seems to confirm what I have to do. Turning around, I face him with clothes draped over my forearm. He points to the bed and I walk over to it. I sit down, feeling my legs nervously shake. This moment is the one that determines whether I live or die. Taking a deep breath, I go through my plan one more time in my head.

"Ice daddy, I can't undress when you watch me."

"I'm not leaving the fucking room," his temper releases itself, "just hurry up."

"If you could only turn around, it would help, ice daddy." I hold my breath, worried about receiving another harsh outburst. If he denies me again, I'm not sure my plan will work.

"I told you already," his voice deepens, " hurry the fuck up."

This is exactly what I feared. However, I can't let his refusal stop me. Slowly, I unlace my shoes and remove them. I deeply exhale before throwing the shoes at Goldman. He groans loudly, signaling I made a direct hit. I crawl across the bed, diving for the pillows. I can feel my veins pulsing blood to every inch of my body. I reach beneath the mattress, scraping my hand between the folds.

Once I find the blade, Goldman grabs my ankle. I'm dragged across the bed until I'm laying in front of him. Anger has darkened his green eyes. The rage has twisted his handsome face, causing him to appear monstrous. I'm so frightened, I can barely steady the knife in my hand. My courage alone isn't enough. Instincts suddenly take over. The will to live surges through me. With a loud shout, I plunge the blade into Goldman's shoulder. I don't stay to see if the knife penetrates his flesh. Instead, I leap from the bed. I run into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I lock the door before Goldman can turn the handle. Enraged, he bangs with his fist.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Scott!"

I ignore the threat. My mind is too focused on the window. It's not at a normal height like most windows. It's big enough to crawl through but I'll have to jump up in order to reach it. I push the shower curtain aside. I step inside the tub. My first jump doesn't catch the window's edge. I try again but I still can't reach.

"Open this shit now!"

Goldman is ramming the door and I know I don't have much time left. With all my strength, I leap up again. Quivering fingers finally grab hold of the edge. I strain to lift myself up. Little by little, I pull my upper half through the window. The outside air brings unimaginable relief. I can see cars from the main road. If I can stop just one of those cars, I know someone would be willing to help me. And then all of this will be over.

Once I have most of my waist outside the window, the door to the bathroom gives way. I panic when I feel Goldman's hands on my ankles.

"Let me go," I shout, hoping someone heard.

Goldman is stronger. The very thing I loved about him, is the very thing I wish he wasn't. I'm yanked back inside the bathroom. Despite my scream, no one arrives to help. I'm quickly slammed on my back. I feel the coldness of the tub against my skin. I also can feel Goldman's muscular forearm pressed on my neck. Straightaway, I notice the blood soaking his business suit. All I did was scrape the surface. This was my only chance at escaping and I failed.

God, I failed…

"You're going to pay for this bullshit!" Goldman sneers the words in my face.

I clench my eyes shut. The pressure on my neck only grows worse. I don't want to die. I want to live. Why can't I live? I know my life isn't much but why does it have to end this way? My instincts kick in again, trying its best to keep me from choking to death. As I struggle for air, I hear the sound of my phone. The ringing doesn't deter Goldman. He continues to strangle me even after the phone goes silent. However, the noise is heard again. Then, again. Then, for the fourth time. Finally, Goldman releases his hold. I immediately gasp for air.

"You told me you lived alone. Who the fuck is calling you?"

I don't want to answer.

"Tell me or I will choke you to death."

"My mom," I blurt out, afraid of what this will all mean for her and me.

"Oh, really," he leans down, positioning his knees between my legs. He grins, unmasking a new evil inside of him. "Well, Luther and I will have to do something about this."

I can only stare wide-eyed at him. I know he said he was going to hurt me because of what I did, but I didn't think he'd hurt me this way. Now it's not just my life I have to worry about.


	4. Stay Away

As I quiver on the bed, Goldman examines his wound in front of me. I quietly watch him pull back his business shirt, revealing a small, bleeding gash. He painfully hisses when the scar is touched.

" You better be glad I'm not going to need stitches." The shirt is eventually removed. He rocks his shoulder up and down, testing to see if the muscle still works. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The question makes me believe I'm acting abnormal. As he said in the car, my boss knows men who would die to be in my shoes.

"How do you even manage stabbing me with a damn knife," his eyes appear as they did earlier. Rage has darkened them, making Goldman seem unrecognizable. "I'm going to make you regret ever raising your hand to me! See, you're going to do everything I tell you to do from now on, aren't you?"

"Please, ice daddy," I beg, hoping somehow this is enough. Goldman continues his advance. In response, I hurry to scoot away, quickly moving toward the headboard. I realize stabbing him was a huge risk. In some way, it had to have been the most courageous thing I've done in my life. And maybe that's why it didn't work―because it was the first time I ever had to defend myself. And now I'm going to pay for my actions―and pay dearly.

"Oh no, that won't work this time. No amount of _please ice daddy_ will calm my nerves. You have to be shown your place in this relationship because apparently you think you run the show."

"Ice daddy," I shake my head, "don't."

Goldman clenches my throat. My head is smashed against the headboard. As I try to swallow, I can feel my adam's apple bobbing against his palm. My arms and legs twitch as I struggle to take a breath.

"Do you feel how close you are to dying?" his voice echoes through my mind. The wavering of legs and arms signal I can't take much more.

"I know you can feel it. From now on, Scott, you remember this moment. Remember it. You're going to remember, aren't you?"

I can't reply but I understand I'm not meant to answer. If I was, he wouldn't be choking me. After a few more seconds, I'm finally freed. While I desperately pant for air, Goldman snatches my shirt, popping the buttons off. He forces it open, revealing flushed skin. To my horror, his hand grabs the knife. I inch away from the blade but Goldman holds me down against the mattress.

"Where do you think you're going? I'm not done with you."

The extent of his evil seems limitless. I don't know how much further he'll push me. How much further will he hurt me? Even worse, I fear what Goldman is going to do to my mom.

"Ice daddy, I didn't mean it," I try to lessen his rage, " I was scared. I was afraid you'd go back on your promise. You told me you wouldn't hurt me."

The blade is brought to my neck. Goldman comes closer. " While you were getting dressed on the bed, did I hurt you?"

"No," he catches my lie.

"And yet you threw fucking shoes at me and then tried to stab me. I'm keeping my promise to you, Scott. It's you who has the problem."

"I'm sorry," I say this but I don't mean it.

"Yeah, you're going to be really sorry," the sharp end of the knife slides down my chest. Every muscle tightens. I quiver beneath his weight. "Besides, I can't have you stabbing me nor your dear old mother calling. So before we head out, you're going to put your mom at ease. Because if she goes to the police or does any investigating, I'm going to have her killed. That's right, pretty boy, I'll kill your fucking mom just so that I can keep you here with me."

"No, please," I beg. Tears are already starting to gather at my eyes.

"I will. I'll do it and you'll watch. You see, I just don't keep Luther around because he's a fat, nasty slob. I keep him around because he likes to kill people. And he likes to rape, too. And well, Luther wouldn't mind doing both to your mom. Knowing the sick freak, he'd really enjoy the shit. You'd have to sit and watch, too. You'd have to watch Luther tear off all her clothes as she screams for help. And she'll be begging for you to help her because, well damn, Scott, you're her big, strong son so why can't you be a man and stop Luther. That's what she'll be thinking. But you won't do anything. You can't do anything. All you can do is watch as Luther pounds her old ass into oblivion. And I'm not capping him on how many times he can fuck her. I'm going to let him go to town on her. How long do you think the old woman will last before she passes out?"

Goldman's words make me want to vomit. My mom being tortured isn't a choice. It isn't something I could ever let happen and I believe Goldman knows this. That's why he's telling me all these things. The option to resist and fight him isn't possible anymore―not when I know what he could do to her.

"I'll call," I give into his demands, " I'll make her stay away. She won't go to the police. I promise."

Goldman removes the blade from my skin but keeps the knife where I can see it. "Good. Tell her you received a promotion and you'll be out of state for awhile. You'll call her when you're free. Got it?"

I nod, agreeing to whatever he says.

Still holding the blade, Goldman moves backwards. I lift upright, desperately trying to close my shirt, to hide my chest. He stands in front of the bed. His finger points and I follow its direction with my eyes. I gradually crawl off the mattress and head to the door. Goldman walks behind me, pushing my back occasionally as we head toward the kitchen.

"If you try anything, and I mean anything, I will make you regret it. When you pick up, you switch it to speaker. I want to hear everything."

Trembling, I reach for the phone. Goldman stands close. His presence numbs my entire body. I take a deep breath, hopelessly trying to calm my nerves. If my mom detects anything is wrong, I know Goldman will hurt me. And he won't just hurt me, he'll hurt her. And honestly, I'm willing to do anything to spare my mom from this pain.

"Mom?" I steady my voice.

"Scott, what happen to you? I've been calling for hours."

"I'm sorry. I went to a company party. It was late and I'm just getting back."

I listen to her sweet laughter, " Oh, now I see. That's wonderful, darling. Did you see your special friend?"

Her question thumps my heart. I can't speak for awhile.

"Scott?"

Goldman glares. I swallow and then answer calmly, " Yeah, mom he was there."

"Did you get the courage to tell him? I mean, from what you told me, darling, you shouldn't be so nervous around this Goldman fellow. If he's as sweet and nice as you say, then I don't see why you won't take a chance."

"It's complicated," I try not to cry. Her words remind me of the Goldman I wish was real. "Anyway, uh, I have good news."

"Oh, tell me," her voice is bubbly. My mom has always been genuinely interested in my life.

"Goldman gave me a promotion. I'm going to be traveling."

"Oh my goodness! He gave you a promotion? That's wonderful, darling. Let's celebrate. Oh, hell, I know it's late but this is such great news. I know how hard you've been working to impress your boss! Come over so we can go out to dinner."

I cringe, "Mom, I can't."

"Why?"

Goldman lifts the knife. His eyes narrow even further.

"It's really late and Goldman's putting a lot of pressure on me. We're leaving to some place in the morning. I just need some rest."

"Oh," her pitch isn't high anymore. I can tell my refusal to come over has her unhappy. "Well, okay. Maybe when you get back we can celebrate."

"Might be a while," I explain.

"Then, just call me," she insists.

"I can't mom. I'll be really busy."

"But darling…"

"When I'm free, I'll try calling but don't worry. Just know I'm fine."

She's quiet. Her silence says so much. I know she's aware something is wrong but I hope she doesn't act on her intuitions.

To calm her down, I say, "Mom, I'll call you when I can."

"Okay, darling. If you can call tomorrow, try okay?"

"Okay. Love you."

"I love you, too. And don't let Goldman work you too hard."

"I won't," I tell her before hanging up.

Goldman snatches the phone. He puts it in his pant's pocket. "So, you told your mom about me?"

I don't give a response.

"Special friend," he smirks, "Is that what I was to you, Scott? You're special friend?"

It hurts to know Goldman finds this funny. I keep trying to separate the Goldman who is standing here from the one I worked for. I want to believe somewhere inside this man, there's some area uncharted by evil. And that maybe there's a way I can reach that side of him.

"I liked you. I wanted to be with you," I admit but only because I'm desperate for a kinder reaction from him. I want to unlock his personality that is willing to free me.

"You got your wish," his smirk widens.

"No, but not this way," I step back. My words are having the opposite effect. "I wanted things to be special."

"I offered, remember? I told you to take off your clothes and you whined about it. It could have been special but you wanted to act like I was robbing you."

"You kidnapped me, Goldman!"

Suddenly, my cheek is smacked. I collapse against the counter.

"What did I say about calling me Goldman?"

I keep my head down and murmur an apology, " Ice daddy, I'm sorry."

My hair is pulled, causing me to stand upright. I'm forced out of the kitchen, past the living room, but suddenly I'm stopped. The front door opens. Luther's presence seems to dim the entire room. I cringe upon seeing him.

"What's going on," the door is slammed shut. " Oh fuck, why the hell are you bleeding?"

Goldman holds my shirt while explaining, " The little shit tried to stab me."

"He what?"

Luther stampedes over to us. His fist slams into my gut. I crumble to my knees, tightly clenching my stomach. The assault ends with Luther kicking my back with enough force to cause me to scream. I sob against the carpet, overwhelmed by the immense pain pulsing through my body. If not for Goldman standing in front, guarding me from another attack, I know Luther would have beat me to death.

"You let me end his life, Goldman! Just let me do it!"

I'm shocked by the calmness of his voice, "You idiot, he didn't do anything I couldn't handle myself."

"He could have killed you!"

"Shut up, Luther. Now, you're blowing this way out of proportion. All I need is gauze and I'll be fine. We still have to get him to Ron and I'm not letting you ruin our plans. Hell, you're the one who suggested we come to his place. If anyone should have their ass beat, it should be you for making such a stupid damn suggestion."

"I…" Luther coughs to clear his throat, "I wasn't thinking he'd give you this much trouble."

I realize, as I watch them, the true dynamics of their relationship.

"Anyway, is everything clear?"

"No, he has a mother who is actively involved in his life. He made the call so I doubt she'll be a bother but we'll have to set up monthly calls until I get tired of the shit. And then we'll just deal with her."

I shut my eyes. God, I pray I can keep my mom out of this.

"Good but I swear, Goldman this is the most we've ever had to do. He's causing too much trouble, you know."

My boss shoves me toward the bedroom. Regardless of what Luther thinks, I fear Goldman is determined to see his plan to its end. Which means I might not be able to escape this nightmare.


	5. Another Chance

As I pull blue jeans on, Luther watches. I'm alone with him in the bedroom. Goldman is in the bathroom. I can see Luther clenching his gun, pointing it directly at me. Shivering, I try to finish buckling my pants. My fingers, however, aren't steady enough.

"So you like to stab people, huh?" Luther challenges.

I don't look up, too afraid to do so. Instead, I continue working on my buckle.

"I asked you a question," he says, his baritone voice echoes through me.

"No," I answer, my fingers finally give up on the belt. I'm too terrified to continue.

I listen as Luther walks over to the bed. As he steps closer, my impulses urge to move away. But I fear openly rejecting Luther will just make him angrier. And I've seen him angry. When he's angry, he's not like Goldman. At least Goldman will stop. I think if Luther becomes upset, nothing I say or do will cease his attacks. The only person who can stop him isn't even in the room. The only choice I have is to do exactly as he says.

"Oh, but pretty boy, you must like stabbing people. You stabbed, Goldman."

With my head still down, I admit, "It was an accident."

"Really," he grunts, "you think that was some funny shit to say to me, huh? It was an accident!"

Fat fingers grab my chin, directing me to look up. Luther grits his teeth. The stench of his breath reminds me of an ashtray. His icy, blue eyes reveal unspeakable rage. I'll admit, I fear Goldman but Luther truly is the monster. I can only imagine this is the face his victims must have witnessed―a face of pure evil.

"Let me show you something," he grabs the knife Goldman gave to him. He lifts the blade so I can see it. "You see, to stab someone isn't easy, you little whore. It takes strength. It takes muscles and you don't have any of that. I do. See, you take the blade in your hand. Don't be a pussy about it now. Just hold the handle like I'm doing. You see it?"

He's holding my chin and cheeks so tight, I can't speak. I'm helpless. I'm like Goldman said: I can't do anything and I won't do anything. And I hate this feeling. I hate knowing they can do whatever they want to me and I can't protect myself.

"Now, here's the best part, little shorty. Once you're holding the blade tight, you gotta pick a nice, sweet spot to lay the groundwork. And once you found your spot, you just plow that mother fucker on through!"

Luther lifts the blade, raising it beyond his shoulder. He drives the knife toward me. I scream at the top of my lungs, fearful of the pain that's coming. I shut my eyes, unable to watch my own blood spew from my body. Luther plunges the knife where he sees fit. Seconds later, I hear laughter. Luther hit the mattress, precisely between my middle and index finger.

"Teaches you a lesson, you brat," he says coarsely, "I don't want anymore trouble out of you. Because if you keep making things hard, I won't hesitate to end you." Luther yanks the knife from out of the bed. "Well, that's after I pound your little ass for a bit."

The commotion causes Goldman to exit the bathroom. Once I spot him, I'm eager to be by his side. I crawl away from Luther, rushing on my hands and knees toward the headboard. Goldman smirks. I watch his green eyes sparkle with amusement.

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, Goldman. I was just teaching him a lesson about stabbing people."

"I swear I can't leave you alone with the merchandise." He turns to examine me. Goldman bends forward to my eye level. The relief I had moments ago disappears. In a way, I was pleased to see Goldman because it meant Luther would stop hurting me. But now I wonder if the abuse will only start back up again.

"So, did you get the bleeding to stop?"

His eyes are still staring my way. " Yeah but my business shirt is ruined. The jacket is fine after I rinsed the stain out."

"Good, so are we ready to go?"

Goldman finally looks away. He's boldly grinning. "I don't know." I watch as he places the business jacket on. "Shirtless look good on me?"

"Ha! Ask chicken little over there."

Unlike conversations with Luther, I know how to answer. I know exactly what he wants to hear. I don't need to guess. "Yes, ice daddy."

Goldman opens the jacket wider, revealing more of his taut abs. His grin widens. I suppose he's in a good mood. I haven't seen him this way before. I wonder if I could use this as an opportunity to reach his empathy.

"So, you like what you see, Scott?"

"Yes, ice daddy," I repeat, just as I'm supposed to do.

Luther and Goldman begin to laugh. I realize I'm being ridiculed. Goldman isn't in a better mood. His evil towards me has simply shifted to mockery instead of physical abuse. Neither is better than the other. Both equally hurt.

"You can't get a real answer out of that kid," Luther slaps his knee, chuckling even louder.

Goldman wipes a tear from his eye. He's laughed so hard, he can barely breathe straight. " Wait. Wait. I got one, Luther. I bet I'll get a straight answer with this one." He looks over, "So, Scott, if I look good, does that mean you'll ride ice daddy's big cock?"

I don't reply and this causes even more laughter.

"Yes, ice daddy," Luther mocks me. "Yes, ice daddy I'll ride your cock."

After they're done laughing, I'm pulled from the bed by my arm. Goldman shoves me toward the door. I walk out into the living room, listening as they whisper to one another.

"Laughter aside, that damn boy is a mess, Goldman. He can't and won't get the job done," Luther complains.

"He's fine. Look, I want to see how he performs tonight and if he's good, I'm keeping him. And if he's dead in the water, he's yours."

"And his mother?"

I hold my breath, fearing the answer.

"She's yours, too. I'm not into the elderly."

"Pussy is pussy, my friend," Luther snorts.

"Shut the fuck up, Luther. I'm not in the mood for that shit."

Listening to them talk, helps me to understand my fate. I realize fighting them isn't going to free me. Luther is stronger. Goldman is, too. The way I get out of this will involve compliance but also waiting for the right moment. And when the right moment comes, I have to be ready. As we walk out of the apartment together, a porch light suddenly comes on. My next door neighbor slowly opens his door. His name is David. We speak occasionally and I know he's older than me. As I lock up, David approaches. His presence causes Luther to intrude.

"What do you need, buddy?"

David answers politely, " Hey, hotshots. I just needed to talk to my neighbor. He's been trying to duck out on me for weeks. And well, I saw him with you guys and I figure if he can take his friends out to party, why can't he pay me back my money."

"No, we don't have-"

Goldman interrupts Luther, " We'll give you two minutes and we have to get going."

I'm relieved. In so many ways, I'm relieved. A new hope takes a hold of my entire being. This is my opportunity. I failed the last time but this time, I have to make it work. And maybe this time, things will work out for me. Besides, since I've been living here, my neighbor has always been kind. He'd give me things or invite me over. Sadly, I never accepted his gratitude because I was too shy. And right now, I regret all those days I would tell him no.

"I heard you screaming," he whispers close to my ear, "who are these people?"

"They kidnapped me. They threatened to hurt my mom. I don't know what to do."

He touches my shoulder. I almost want to hug him.

"I'll get help, okay," he promises.

"Time's up, friend," Luther plays nicely. He smiles at David.

"Alright, big guy. Thanks for letting me speak to him. Guess you guys are lucky. You're getting all his money tonight."

To my absolute horror, Luther grabs David by the back of his neck. He spins him around, directing David toward the front door. Forcefully, he pushes David, causing my neighbor to trip and fall. Luther yanks him to his feet. He presses the gun to David's back.

"I suppose they both think we're stupid, Goldman."

"Wait, guys. Really, hold up for a second. I'm not-" David is struck in the back of the head. He's forced into his apartment.

"Luther has plans for him. Then, we're moving. And I hope you didn't think he was going to be your exit ticket," Goldman holds my arm, dragging me to the Lincoln, "Hell, we're not done, until I say we are."

The darkness of the night shadows Goldman's face. I'm pulled into the car, forced to sit beside him in the backseat. As we wait for Luther to finish, the image of David haunts me.


	6. Keep Trying

Hearing the car door open intensifies my fear. I stare at Luther as he flops down into the driver seat. His breathing is heavy. Right away, I notice small spots of blood on his face. I think maybe this is Luther's own blood. David must have fought back. Perhaps my neighbor is still alive.

"Man, that bastard was strong." Luther opens the club compartment. Crammed inside the tiny space is a rag. He wipes the dirty cloth all over his face, heaving as he does so.

"You took on more than you could handle, you fat ass."

Goldman's insult causes Luther to chuckle. He tosses the rag over his shoulder. When the bloody cloth lands in my lap, I quickly push it to the car floor.

"He thought I was just going to shoot him," Luther explains with amusement. "I mean, I was going to end him but I thought a quickie wouldn't hurt. That's when he got all fucking emotional. Tried to go army pro on me. But once I put a bullet in his leg, he got the point and I got a few minutes of ass time with him. He did a fucking number on my ankle with the kicking and shit. But I needed my pecker wet, Goldman. By the end of it, I think I sent him smiling to his maker."

I cover my face to shield my emotions. Luther isn't human. He appears as flesh and bone but he's something else. The fact someone like Luther is walking among society is beyond my comprehension. He should be dead and not David. David didn't deserve to die. Just thinking about my neighbor causes me to sob. I try to hold back the tears but I can't. I thrust both hands to my face, crouching forward with my head pressed against the driver's seat.

My crying gains Luther's attention. "What kid? I gave you the rag to remember him by. I got some of his blood on my face and a little of his pre-cum on my lips. I tell you, they can claim they don't want it, but they want it. And your friend wanted it."

The entire world must look like disposable objects in Luther's mind and I know I'm not an exception. I have to be like trash to him. I'm something completely useless. And that's what's so terrifying about this man. I can scream, kick, cry, beg, fight, and none of these things will matter. I imagine David did these exact same things. Pleaded for his life. Fought for his life. Screamed and cried for his life. And yet, Luther still killed him.

"Alright, leave the fucking kid alone," Goldman speaks up, "Now that you've had your fun. I'm ready to go to Ron's, so let's go."

The car begins to move. I keep my head down because I'm too afraid to raise it. The mention of Ron quickens my heart. I don't want to go to his place. I don't want to see this strange man. I certainly don't want to have sex with him. As the car moves faster, my heart beats even more. I try to calm myself but I'm breathing too quickly. My chest falls and rises almost like I've been running for miles. Even worse, the tears won't cease. I can feel each tear slid through my fingers, landing to the car floor.

If not for the sound of sirens, I would not have stopped sobbing. Immediately, I raise my head, tears blur my vision but I can still distinguish red and blue lights flashing behind the Lincoln.

"Shit!" Luther bangs his huge hand against the steering wheel, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"Will you just calm down, you dumbass," Goldman uncrosses his legs. He turns from Luther to glare at me. "Now, I know what you're thinking Scott but don't you say a goddamn thing! I mean that shit. If you even utter a sound, I will gut you before this cop has a chance to save you. Do you understand?"

I shiver beside him. I'm so overwhelmed by this moment, I can't pin-point how to really feel. I don't know if I should be relieved, excited, frightened, confused, or worried. I may not know how to feel but I'm certain this nightmare is coming to an end. So for now, I'm going to do what Goldman tells me because I know this is my chance to finally break free from them. I only have to wait for the right moment.

"I understand, ice daddy," I reassure him.

He looks back at Luther, "Don't make a scene. Let me handle it."

"But Goldman," he counters.

"No, Luther! Let me handle it."

As I listen to them, I don't have to wonder who is truly in charge. After a minute, the officer approaches. He doesn't stand directly in front of my window. He's off to the side, shining a bright light in the backseat. I raise my hand to shield my eyes until eventually, the officer moves on. He stands at Luther's door, shining the flashlight on him.

"I get this alot. I understand it's a long, deserted road but you got any idea how fast you were going, sir?"

Goldman answers, "My driver isn't the best at watching those signs. I've told him before but he doesn't listen."

The officer merely nods. His focus returns to Luther. "I need to see your license and registration."

As Luther looks in the club compartment, the officer observes me. I catch his eyes looking me up and down. In that moment, I want to believe he knows something is wrong. Perhaps he notices the remnants of tears or the desperation in my eyes. Even without words, surely this officer can sense I'm not safe.

When Luther's done searching, he hands the officer the items. The cop drops his gaze to the paper and license. As he examines the information, I feel like my heart might explode. Is he hesitating on purpose? Does he know what's really going on?

Finally, the man says something. "I'll be right back, sir. Give me a moment."

Seeing him return to his car fills me with an anxious dread. Not only am I upset, for some reason, Luther is, too. He slams his fist down on the passenger seat. An unbelievable amount of fury consumes him.

"He's running my name, Goldman! That fucking coward ass pig is going to run that fake ass name and figure us out! I can't go back, man! I can't!"

Goldman reaches beyond his seat. He clenches Luther's shirt collar. "This is routine procedure for them. You are overreacting!"

"No, Goldman! That asshole is going to come back and arrest me. And there's going to be plenty more of them. I know it and it's all because of this damn twink you got. He's attracting nothing but trouble."

"Scott has nothing to do with this. No one told you to go damn near forty-five in a twenty-five mile zone. Listen to me, all this idiot is going to do is write us a speeding ticket. That's it, Luther. And hell, I'll pay for it, just calm down."

For a second, neither of them talk. They are both staring at each other. Goldman is tightly holding Luther's shirt while Luther sits and glares. They seem frozen in time.

"Alright. Alright. I'll calm down," Luther finally agrees.

Goldman retreats to the backseat. He straightens his suit jacket. There's a self-assured calmness in his eyes. It's frightening to see him this way. After kidnapping me, threatening to kill my mom, and forcing me into sex, this man sits beside me as if everything is normal. Like he said, Luther is merely receiving a speeding ticket. None of the other things they've done account for punishment because to them it's normal, everyday business. But I don't want to be apart of their normal. I don't want to live this kind of life with them. So when the officer returns, I'm going to have to take a chance. And this time, I can't fail!

"Fuck this! We'll just have to figure something else out."

Luther bolts from his seat. As he runs toward the cop, I hear Goldman yelling for Luther to come back. Then, within seconds, blood splatters the cop car's windshield. Horrified, I watch as Luther returns to the Lincoln. He flings open my door but doesn't touch me. His attention is all on Goldman.

"Tell me what to do," he pleads.

Goldman erupts, "I told you what to do you fat fuck but you didn't listen!"

Luther bangs his sweaty forehead, hitting himself so hard I wonder if he'll start bleeding. " Just tell me what to do. Help me!"

"No, you goddamn idiot!"

"I know I fucked up but I can't go back there. You know I can't. Is that what you want? For me to go back?"

"I didn't want you to go in the first place!"

"Then help me. Help me, Goldman."

My entire body feels numb. I can't believe Luther killed a cop. This is the most egregious action any human being can do. And yet, Luther did so without even flinching. He stands in front of me begging for help, as if his actions are minor infractions, capable of simply being overlooked.

Goldman's response explodes from him, " Fine, you asshole! But this time you listen to everything I tell you!"

I am shoved aside as Goldman exits through my car door. He stands in front of Luther, striking him a few times across the face. Luther loudly groans. He cowers before Goldman, revealing aside of himself I was sure never existed.

"You're such a stupid asshole, you know that," Goldman smacks him harder, "You killed the fucking cop for nothing! Just think about it. If he was calling for backup to send you back to jail, wouldn't they be here by now! Now look at the mess you're in and this is certainly your fucking mess, Luther!"

"I know," he admits, " I know, Goldman. But if you tell me what to do, I'll do it. I'll clean this mess right up and we'll go straight to Ron's like you wanted."

"You damn right, you will. You're going to get all the electronics: body cam, his computer, dashboard cams, and the GPS. Smash the shit here and toss it in the woods. Clean the blood up and get his body in the trunk. You squeeze your fat ass in his uniform and drive the car to the third house. Make sure you get the GPS off the vehicle before you start driving it or they'll find your ass, and then you're on your own. Once you have the car in the garage, call me. I'll be at the second house waiting on you. Got it?"

It's like all Luther's energy and confidence has come back. I watch his scared and helpless demeanor suddenly vanish. What emerges in its place seems truly despicable. To my shock, Luther's blue eyes stare into mine.

"What do we do about the little birdie? I mean, he saw what I did!"

Goldman turns to look at me, too. "I don't know. Scott, did you see what Luther did?"

I'm so horribly afraid, I can't mutter a response. Instead, I quickly shake my head.

"Well, there's your answer," Goldman slams the car door shut but I can still hear their conversation.

"I'm telling you. He's trouble! This shit has never happened before, Goldman. I'm not complaining about the kills but you know, two in one night? That has to be a fucking record!"

"Shut up, Luther! Just get this mess cleaned up and let me worry about, Scott. I can handle him. Remember, call me only when you finish the job. I'll give you an hour and after that, I'm not waiting any longer."

"Alright, then. I'll get it done."

I steady my eyes on Luther as he waddles over to the cop car. He doesn't hesitate on the tasks given to him. I'm grateful he is staying behind. As depraved as Goldman acts, he's nowhere near compared to Luther's depravity. And yet, as we drive down the road together, leaving Luther on the deserted highway, I'm still afraid for my life. I don't know where Goldman is taking me and when we get to our destination, what will he do to me now that it's just us.


	7. A Monster's Soul

The Lincoln drives along a black stretch of driveway. I can barely see the road. What surrounds us are mostly tall pines. As we continue up the bumpy roadway, I instantly feel small. It's like I'm lost in a crowd of enormous bushes and trees. I don't know where I am. As we drove, I didn't see many homes nearby. Where Goldman has taken me seems to be in the middle of nowhere.

And yet, I'm still so desperate to break free. I'm even more determined because I can't imagine when we reach the house, Goldman is suddenly going to be nice. Now that Luther is gone, maybe Goldman will try something...He'll try to do to me the very thing I never want. And I don't believe I could take such abuse to my body...not by him...not by someone who I trusted and had so many strong feelings for in my heart.

That's why I have to try and break free. I failed at my apartment and I failed while with the cop. But this time, I want to believe things will be different. I know the risk but maybe being out here is an opportunity. Perhaps I can find the right moment to escape.

Suddenly, the Lincoln rolls to a stop. Goldman shifts the gear to park. His lips curve into a secret half smile. "Welcome to my humble home."

I stare out the window, ignoring his disturbing hospitality. My eyes notice a clearing to the right of the vehicle, as if something heavy has been dragged across the bushes, creating a narrow pathway. I hate to think what's out there. Bodies? Maybe wild animals? These horrible thoughts sink my courage. I begin to worry if I can gather enough determination to run blindly through these trees.

"When we get inside, I want to try something with you. You may like it a bit," Goldman seems to hum the words with delight. He's swift to open his car door. Before long, he's moving to my side of the vehicle, eager to get me out of the car.

This is it! I strongly believe this is my chance to get away. Just as before, I let my instincts summon all my bravery. Once the door opens, I force it to slam against Goldman's body, causing him to fall hard to the ground. Never in my life have I moved so fast. As I run, weaving between the huge trees, branches scrape my skin. Low, hanging leaves block the view of the pathway, forcing me to swipe at my face. I can feel my heart pounding hard, almost as if it could burst.

"Help me," I shout into the darkness, hoping someone hears, " Help me, please!" I scream louder.

The air escape my lungs the moment I'm tackled to the ground. I squirm under Goldman's weight, twisting and turning in order to break away. He straddles my waist and lands a jab directly to my stomach. I heave, shocked by the full force of his hard fist. He nails me once more but much harder. I wail beneath him, not because of the harsh punch, but because I failed again.

"You really thought you could out run me, Scott," he huffs his words, attempting to catch his breath. "You still don't get it, do you? I own your ass! You're mine!"

I result to my only option. I cower before him, just as Luther did. " Ice daddy, I do understand. I'm sorry," I shut my eyes, "I'm sorry!"

"That's not enough," he announces callously, "That's not nearly enough!"

I'm snatched from the ground to stand. He drags me back to the vehicle and I'm shoved against the trunk. Goldman forces me to bend over, then spreads my legs with his knee. I feel his hands yanking at my buckle, almost ripping the pants open. I don't want to think of this hurting. I sincerely fear my mind won't ever forget what's about to happen. That when he's done, I'll have nightmare of this event.

And already I blame myself. I hate this feeling. I hate it so much. I know it isn't my fault. None of this is my fault and yet, there's no stopping the emotion that's telling my heart had I not attended the company party, none of this would be happening.

Although I feel guilty, there's a side of me demanding that I still try. But I realize trying has only caused more affliction. If I fight, this will only make the situation last longer. But if I just comply, I imagine he'll get tired and things will end quickier. Still, how can anyone balance these two sides? Neither outcome is better than the other. It seems my only option is to attack Goldman's weakness. I must do the very thing he appears to dislike the most about me.

It doesn't take much to start shredding tears. This moment is enough to make anyone cry. I press my head against the trunk and shut my eyes so I don't have to see anything. I'd rather be submerged in darkness, imagining myself in the comfort of a deep, dark hole. And it's sickening to think of a hole being comforting but right now, that's where I want to be, tucked away, far away, from all light and from anything that's living.

Feeling him yank my pants down causes my eyes to clench tighter. I can barely breathe. My heart pounds my chest. Although I've decided on blindness, Goldman prys his way inside, appearing as an image in my mind, his face gruesomely angered and his lips curved into a menacing snarl. The terrifying appearance mirrors the sensation pressed against me. I can feel Goldman thrusting himself at my entrance. I'm aware fighting isn't a wise choice but I can't bare for this to happen. My attempt at wiggling free prompts Goldman to grab my waist, to steady me against the trunk. I bang my fist to the car, screaming and crying loud enough to hurt my own ears. Goldman clamps down on my neck, pinning the side of my face to the cold metal. I sob louder, emptying out all of my emotions, laying every one of them out for Goldman to feel. He growls behind me, displaying his heated frustration.

"Goddamn it, Scott," he curses. I'm forced upright, pants and boxers are still around my ankle, but I'm relieved he has changed his mind.

Goldman zips and buckles his trousers. Then, he grabs my arm, pulling me toward the large two-story house. Eventually, as we near the porch, he pushes my back, causing me to trip over my low-hanging pants.

"Get up," he loudly orders.

I hurry to pull boxers and pants up on my waist. Goldman watches, his eyes narrow slits. I lift to stand only to be shoved forward. Once we reach the house, anxiety rushes to my heart. I screamed every ounce of air from my lungs, hoping not only to deter Goldman, but also to attract attention, but as I'm dragged into Goldman's house, I realize everything I did wasn't good enough. Instead of being outside, I suppose he wants to torture me inside his home, where no one can hear or see us. He might even kill me in here. The chilling thought of dying in Goldman's home awakens more panic.

"Please," I beg, " Please, ice daddy. Please. Please, don't do this," I feel helpless again. I swear, it's the worst feeling in the world. To know nothing will stop what's coming, is truly a blood-curdling feeling.

"No, Scott. I'm tired of your shit." His hands shove me to the couch. "You're going to have to seriously pay for the stunt you just pulled."

"Please." I desperately shake my head. "No, please, don't!"

As he stands in front, I'm appalled to hear the sound of his zipper. My eyes shut immediately. A horrifying terror grinds inside my stomach. I tightly clench the muscles in my mouth, bracing myself for what Goldman is about to do. As he reaches to pull me toward his crotch, I fist my fingers until they are digging into my bruised palm. He presses my face against his pubic hair. I try holding my breath, attempting to block out his scent, but after a minute, his natural musk and amber cologne invades my nostrils. I'm reminded of days he'd stand beside me, touching my shoulder, and smelling this exact same way.

"Open your mouth," he demands.

I know I'm supposed to do everything he says but I can't bring myself to comply. Instead, I bite down on my lower lip. In response, Goldman bangs his dick against my mouth as if to physically order compliance. I turn my head to avoid direct hits to the face but within seconds, Goldman grabs a fistful of my hair, forcing me back in his direction. He smashes my mouth again but much harder.

Still, I won't open to him. I can't do this. Is it not enough I've been kidnapped? Is it not enough Goldman is going to use my body for profit? Why do I have to now endure being abused this way? I can't help but imagine that God must hate me. Is this punishment for being gay? Is it what I deserve?

"I said open your mouth, Scott!"

It makes sense he'd have a way to make me suck him. Goldman is stronger. And fighting him is like trying to wrestle a bear. It's easy for him to squeeze my cheeks, literally crushing my jaw in his huge hand. I scream and automatically, the tip of his member is forced inside. I twist my head left and right, hoping to dislodge him from my mouth. When his dick doesn't stay inside long enough for him, I'm smacked in the face. I fall back against the couch. My eyes open to witness an image I know will forever haunt me.

"I should fucking kill you," he threatens. The rage has stiffened his body. His chest heaves up and down, signaling an indescribable fury lurking within. I fear I've truly awoken the beast inside of this man.

"What is it? You need some help to get my cock in your mouth?"

I'm expecting an attack but Goldman storms away. I watch as he moves over to the fireplace. When he turns to me, there is a half-full, whiskey decanter in his hand. He rushes to the couch and firmly grips by chin, tilting my head back against the sofa. I'm dosed with whiskey. It overflows from my mouth, dripping down the length of my neck, completely soaking my shirt and pants. Goldman leaves to return to the fireplace. The abuse is not over. With a refilled decanter clenched in his hand, he comes back, tilts my head, and forces more of the strong liquor into my mouth. I helplessly gag and cry, pleading for him to stop. Literally, the tears are streaming down my face. I'm wailing uncontrollably to the point Goldman's shouts can't be heard anymore.

"Goddamn it, Scott. Just shut the fuck up," Goldman slams the glass decanter to the living room table. "I can't take how you are!" He squeezes my jaw harder, causing my mouth to form a wide circle. "I'm done with the fucking crying! I'm done!"

I'm slung backwards, finally free from his grasp. Immediately, I crawl away from him, cowering on the other side of the couch. I pull my knees up to my chest. I'm so terrified. I understand Goldman isn't Luther but there's an unquenchable evil inside of Goldman. It's a type of evil I hate seeing. And the only way to stop it seems absolutely bizarre. For the third time, since I've been with Goldman, the fact that I cry in his presence seems to bother him. And I don't have a clue why. Why does he hate when I cry? Just like Luther, shouldn't he be able to ignore it?

"You're a real class act," Goldman lifts from the couch. He grabs a pillow and throws it. It hits me in the head. "You throw shoes at me. Stab me. Then, you run from me. And after all that, you have the fucking nerve to bawl your eyes out! Like you're the one that's hurt!"

I hold the pillow to my chest, burying my face against it. Goldman maybe this monstrous figure but I think there are parts of him I might be able to reach. The fact he hates to hear me cry reveals his empathy. It almost feels like the door to his emotions has been opened. It appears this moment isn't like the others. He's vulnerable just like me and I want to believe this could be my chance at freedom.


	8. Reveal

"Ice daddy, I'm sorry," the apology makes him look else where. I try again, "I'm sorry I ran away. I was scared."

For awhile he doesn't speak. Instead, Goldman walks over to the fireplace. I catch him looking at the burnt wood. He's acting very strange.

"You made me think you were going to hurt me," I explain, attempting to place the blame on him. I wonder if he'll feel guilty about what happened.

Still, he's silent. I worry if I've said the wrong thing. I doubt he wants to hear why I did what I did. Talking about what happen shouldn't be the focus. I quietly look around the home. It's a mansion of a house. It's far more detailed and spacious than the apartment. This must be where he actually lives. I see pictures of people on the wall. There's a jacket draped across the neighboring couch. A pair of loafers are resting under the living room table. I take a few moments to examine a photograph hung above the fireplace. The picture is of a man wearing a military uniform. It's not Goldman. This person looks like his father. I decide to try something risky.

"Ice daddy," my voice is a quiver. "I know you don't want to hurt me. I also know you're not a bad person. You care about people. You have that picture of your dad up like that because he means something to you. That's your dad, isn't it? "

Because he doesn't respond, I decide to continue, "My dad was a military man, too. He left my mom when I was ten. He never got to see me grow up. And I'd do anything just to see him. Just to talk to him again, so I could tell him, I love him."

Slowly, Goldman looks over his shoulder. "Did you love him enough to fuck him?"

The question paralyzes my entire body. I can only shake my head.

He turns to face me fully. "Then, you didn't love him."

Out of nowhere, against my better judgment, I ask, "Is that what you wanted to do?"

His eyes appear to darken, "Everyday. Ever since I was twelve."

I try to keep the disgust from my face. I don't want him to know how appalled I am because I fear this would disrupt everything. What I need is for Goldman to talk. I need to understand his thinking in order to free myself from him. Just from what he's said, it's clear he has issues with his father.

"Is that why you do this? Because you know that it's wrong? It's wrong to feel that way. And it's wrong that you're holding me here against my will."

Goldman drops his hand to his side. "I never said I thought it was wrong."

Just now, I feel like the door to his emotions are closing. I'm losing him to the darkness. Slow and steady, he approaches me. With each step he takes in my direction, I feel my heart beating faster.

"I love what I'm doing to you, Scott. And I love how I feel about my father. So, when you think about it," He stops to stand in front. Goldman bends forward, looking me straight in the eyes, "how can something that you love be considered wrong? I mean, they say being gay is wrong but you still take dick up the ass, Scott. You love being gay although you know it's wrong. Isn't it true?"

His logic is so twisted, it leaves me speechless.

I listen as he makes an impatient sound. "This only feels bad because you're a stubborn, fucking mule. If you would calm your ass down, I'm sure you'd like this."

Goldman pins me to the couch. His sharp, clear eyes stare into mine. "I mean, come on, what happen to you?" He gently strokes my cheek. I'm confused by his sudden shift in emotions. "Where is that look you'd always give me and only me?"

I swallow hard before trying to answer. "What look," I ask.

"Fuck it," he jerks away. "Just stop fighting me. It'll be easier on you."

Before I can speak again, the house phone rings. The sound of it echoes through the large home. Goldman stands to his feet. He glares in my direction. His piercing, green eyes freeze me in place. I won't dare move from the couch.

"Stay here. If you even try to escape, I will kill you where ever I find you."

I nod. It seems the gesture is enough. Goldman starts to walk into the kitchen. I look over my shoulder and notice he has a clear view of me on the sofa. Even if I wanted to run again, he'd stop me before I could get to the door. It's evident running is pointless. Of course, the reality of this moment shatters my heart. I curl into a ball. The smell of whisky and Goldman's cologne floods my senses. I clench hold of myself even tighter. I wish I could disappear into this couch. Just as I begin to silently whimper, Goldman's loud voice is heard from the kitchen.

"Then, we're going without you!"

There's a long pause.

"No, you asshole. I'm not putting this on hold. You killed the cop, so you clean the shit up! I told you not to call me until you got it all done."

I raise my head and look at Goldman. He's steaming mad. Luther must have been unsuccessful.

"Scott has nothing to do with this! What the hell is it with you and him? You have never gone over the deep end about any of the other fucking boys. You keep making a big deal out of me having him."

"He's not your concern."

"Fuck you, Luther. I'm leaving without you!"

I turn away once Goldman ends the call. Luther clearly hates me. Just my presence seems to bother his ego. I'm grateful he isn't joining us. Although, I won't have to deal with Luther, Goldman isn't any better. To my dismay, he appears in the living room. Suddenly, his hands snatch me from the sofa.

"We're going."

I walk quickly to the door so he doesn't shove my back. As we head to the car, I worry there might not be any hope for me. Goldman may have unveiled parts of himself but I think he's too far gone. Sex with his own father? Enjoying physically and emotionally hurting someone? Maybe he is really unreachable. And if that's true, then there's no stopping the horror that awaits me.


	9. My Life

As we drive to Ron's place, I can't stop thinking of my life up until this point. For some reason, my mind wants to remember who I was as a child. I can recall being bullied often. I would cope with the teasing and physical abuse by imagining I was someone else. I'd pretend to be like the popular kids. In the mirror, I would role-play what I might say if someone tried to pick a fight with me.

I suppose most of my childhood I was a weak person. No matter how many times I'd puffed out my chest or argued with imaginary bullies, when the time came to defend myself, I always failed. Even when I tried my hardest, it wasn't enough to come out on top.

And at my age, I wanted to believe I'd grown out of that phase. Maybe not completely but I have come a long way. How else could I have moved out, gotten a job, and managed to live by myself for as long as I have. These kinds of things take courage. And when I started working for Goldman, I somehow pushed myself to become braver. I desired an openness with him that I never wanted with anyone else.

But in a way, after everything that's happened, I've been reverted back to my childhood self. Whatever courage I had built over the years is now gone. The only thing keeping me alive is fear.

As the car picks up speed, I suddenly think about opening the door and jumping out. But I imagine the impact from the asphalt scraping my skin would result in 3rd degree burns. I know Goldman wouldn't take me to the hospital. So, I'd eventually die from the severe trauma.

Plus, I imagine the moment I die, Goldman or Luther won't hesitate tying up any loose ends. As desperate as I am to escape, I don't want them to hurt my mom. She's the only person who has ever loved me. When dad abandoned us, she never gave up on herself or me. And when I came out to her, there was only more love and even more support. When I truly think this through, the best thing I can do is to continue to wait for the right moment. It's the only option I have right now.

As I look out the window, I notice we've entered a large, gated community. The Lincoln drives along a perfectly stoned driveway. We park inside a private, double-car garage. Goldman looks over his shoulder.

"No silly shit, Scott. You hear me?"

I nod but it's not enough. Goldman reaches beyond his seat. He grabs my shirt and yanks it roughly. "Answer when I speak to you!"

"I understand, ice daddy," I tell him but he doesn't let go.

"Understand what?"

"I understand not to run away," this is my guess of what he wants to hear.

"Good," Goldman seems satisfied with the answer, "Because if you run again, there's no way I'll let you live."

I listen as Goldman exits the car. My door abruptly opens and I'm pulled from the car seat. He pushes me out of the garage. Overhead, the dark night sky appears clear. The stars sparkle above me. A strange thought crosses my mind. I wonder if God can see what's happening? And if he can, why isn't he stopping this?

Without a word, Goldman pushes my back, forcing me to walk faster. I'm devastated by the thought of God turning away from all of this. While growing up, at a young age, I learned God hates people like me. I never understood the hatred. And I can't say I've ever been a religious person. I believe in God but not the way most do.

I suppose I'm just expecting him to save me. But as the sky above my head is replaced with the sight of an elevator's ceiling, I realize God isn't looking. He doesn't see me. Or worse, he sees me but doesn't care.

After stepping into the elevator, it only took a few seconds for my heart to start pounding. Goldman presses the button for the twenty-fifth floor. I painfully watch as the numbers increase. I know once this elevator stops, my life is going to change forever. The entirety of everything that I am will be ruined. And I say this because I've never been the type to let people near. I've always guarded my body. It's been the one thing I felt I could control. I decided how it would look and who could touch it. So, to do this, to be forced to give up such control to someone I don't even know, is beyond horrifying.

Immediately, I wither beside Goldman. I back away from the elevator door. His green eyes turn to me. He sternly stares but the look can't force my compliance. I scamper away. With my back against the cold metal, I start to tremble. We are now on the nineteenth floor.

"Please," my head bows. "ice daddy. Anything but this. Anything!"

Goldman pins me to the wall. To my shock, he starts to strangle my neck. The pressure is hard enough to cause me to cough and for my hands to reach up to grasp his arms. He levels his face to mine. I can smell the familiar scent of his cologne and feel how hot his breath is against my skin.

I stare helplessly into his green eyes. And while he looks back at me, I understand right away he means business. I don't think my tears will save me this time. Just as before, I will have to wait until he's ready to let me loose. However, the longer he holds on, the blurrier my vision becomes. I feel like the elevator is spinning. Before long, my instincts are fighting the battle for me.

I start to claw at his big arms, attempting to make Goldman release his grip. My struggle only entices him to squeeze harder. Eventually, because my lungs are about to give up, I bang my fists against his forearms, desperately trying one last time to break his hold.

Through the sound of my gasps, I hear his threatening voice whisper, "You're going to do this. It's that simple. You're going to fuck Ron and if you don't, I will chop you up into tiny pieces and bury you out there in those fucking trees you thought were going to hide you. I mean it, Scott."

As the elevator door opens, he finally releases me. I drop to my knees, struggling for air. Quietly, he pulls me up to stand. I'm violently shoved out of the elevator. He pushes me so hard, I fall to my feet. There's no remorse in his voice as he yells for me to get up. I obey and do exactly as he says. We walk a few feet and eventually come to an entrance with a brass lion door knocker. Goldman grabs the knocker. Then, he turns to glare into my eyes.

"Remember what I said. I will cut you up and toss your body in the woods."

The banging of the knocker against the door echoes in my ears. I numb my entire body. I realize when this door opens, it will mean the end of my life as Scott and the beginning of a new life of what I know will be pure, inconceivable hell.


	10. Not Giving Up

My heart pounds. It hurts my chest; how fast it's beating. I breathe deep, hoping this will calm it but I'm too far gone. Nothing in my life has prepared me for this moment. It's not like when I was bullied and I had to pretend to be someone better. Or when my father left me and I had to pretend I'd be okay. It seems I've coped with every struggle in my life by pretending. Pretending to be strong. Pretending to be brave. Pretending I'm in control. The reality is I can't pretend this time. Because the moment this door opens, I'm going to lose everything that I am.

"Ice daddy, I can't do this," I can feel all the fear crushing my insides. "Please, listen to me. Please."

Goldman ignores my helpless begging. I think I've made him angry. He's now pounding on the door. His hard fist reminds me of the time he punched me in the stomach. I know if I keep begging, it will only make him angrier. And I understand asking him to stop won't save me. Still, everything inside my soul is screaming for me not to give up.

"You said you wouldn't hurt me," I try guilt as a way to break his anger, "You'd let no one. Remember? Please, ice daddy. If you do this, it'll hurt. And I won't be able to live, if you do this to me."

Goldman growls under his breath. He yanks out his cell phone from his jacket. I watch as he dials a number. The pace of my heart intensifies. I must have pushed my luck. I worry he's calling Luther. Perhaps he's decided I'm not worth the trouble and he's giving me over to him. I swear, just the thought of Luther strikes terror to my entire body. My fingers are shaking uncontrollably. I'm biting my bottom lip, to keep from screaming.

"Where the hell are you," Goldman's loud and forceful, "I'm at your place and you're not opening the damn door!"

Immediately, I realize who he's talking to. My body calms down a bit but only a bit. I understand this relief is temporary.

"I said I'd be a few hours late," he shouts, "Not a day late. Why would you leave when you knew I was on my way here!"

He pauses to listen. I watch his green eyes darken, revealing to me a very familiar expression. The look on his face is one I don't think I'll ever be able to remove from my mind.

"I don't care you wanted smokes! What are you going to do? Huh? Because I'm not going back to my car and I'm not waiting in this hallway, either. So, what the hell are you going to do about this shit?"

I'll admit, at one point, I admired Goldman's determination. When we worked together, he always pushed me to create only the best products for our clients. One time, we worked on a project for eight months until he finally felt satisfied with the website I created. I really thought his inner drive was something to marvel at. Now, when I see him this way, it sickens and frightens me. He knows Ron isn't here. This whole thing could be called off and he could easily let me go, but he won't. And that's the hardest thing for me to comprehend...

I mean, how do you stop someone who is this determined? How?

"You sure we can wait there for you," I hear him ask.

Suddenly, I'm grabbed by the arm. Goldman starts to walk down the hall, dragging me with him.

"I'll let you talk to her," he knocks on someone's door.

The entrance opens after a couple of knocks. Eventually, a woman with long, brown hair appears in the doorway. She's dressed in a pink, flowing robe. It's tied closed but because the fabric is sheer, I notice her busty cleavage and long legs.

"It's pretty late but how can I help you gentlemen," her tongue peeks out from her mouth, like the sight of us makes her hungry.

"Talk to Ron," Goldman lifts the phone and extends it to the bright-eyed woman. She takes the receiver without question and listens to the voice on the other end.

"Oh, that's fine. No, I'm not busy. I was just up enjoying myself, if you know what I mean," she giggles and her chest bounces, "I don't mind watching over them while you're out. It would be my pleasure. I owe you one, anyways."

I want to believe this woman is simply promiscuous. That's all she is. Nothing about her personality strikes me as a killer or someone as vile as Goldman and Luther. However, I could be wrong. Goldman was nice, charming, and sophisticated. He made me feel safe and I actually thought he was a decent person. I realize now he's a complete monster.

But I don't want to believe this lady is the same way. If she is anything like Goldman or Luther, I don't think Goldman would have hid anything from her. He would have told her his complication and between the both of them, I imagine she and him would enjoy belittling or harassing me―just for the hell of it.

It's strange but Goldman seems as if he's placed on a mask. He looks calm and relaxed. His shoulders are even and straight. He smiles as he walks into the over-sized loft. I notice he takes a few glances my way, narrowing his eyes at me but then when he faces her, his eyes soften. I'm amazed how Goldman has the ability to switch on and off the evil lurking inside him.

"You have a beautiful place here. I own a loft myself but it's nowhere near compared to yours," Goldman flatters her. She licks up his compliments like a needy kitten.

"This old place," she leads us into the spacious living room, "I'm only staying here because my husband and I are going through a divorce. It's the only loft I can afford. I'm used to a villa."

"I suspect you are used to caviar, too," Goldman sits and crosses his legs. He's a dignified gentleman in front of her.

"I love all the finer things in life," She takes a seat across from Goldman. She wets her lips again, "I imagine you have the same passion. Yes?"

"No," Goldman relaxes in the chair. He confidently grins, "I prefer ruined things. Things no one wants and I make it mine. The loft I bought was run down and well, overtime, I made it worth something and I own the hell out it. Excuse my french."

She laughs kindly but I can tell she's completely infatuated by Goldman. She's staring the same way I used to stare at him. And he's acting the same way he used to act with me. I can only imagine he's done this a thousand times. It's as if he's mastered the art of cruelty.

"If my husband knew I had you over," the woman strokes her thigh, causing the robe to rise slightly, "I bet he'd call this divorce off."

"Perhaps. I have been known to motivate people to do things they'd never thought they'd do," Goldman boasts.

She leans forward, "Oh, really," her voice lowers, "Do tell."

It's odd to have this feeling, but I'm thankful for this woman. I am. She has taken all the attention off of me and placed it all on herself. As they continue to talk, I decide this is the perfect opportunity to find a way to escape. I survey the layout of her loft. It's massive enough to allow me to hide somewhere in her rooms. Across from where I am, I notice three doors and I assume they lead to the bedrooms.

I could run toward one of the rooms and lock myself inside. Then again, Goldman is strong. He broke down my bathroom door without much of a struggle. And I think if I'm caught in the bedroom, as punishment, he might try to take my clothes off again and force himself on me.

I can't risk it.

I decide to avoid the bedrooms.

I turn around to survey what's behind me. I notice the kitchen is centered between two hallways. I wonder if I travel through one end, will I come out the other side. I'm desperate to see if my thinking is correct. Very slowly, I take a step near the second hallway, closest to the front door.

"Is something wrong," Immediately, Goldman stares in my direction. I guess he was able to sense my slight movement, even while he was engaged in conversation. And here I thought this woman had him occupied. It seems this entire time, Goldman still had me in his sights.

I don't answer with words because his sudden attention is frightening. I merely shake my head and remain standing still.

"Good," he turns away to resume speaking, "Now, weren't you telling me about your husband's yacht?"

To my relief, Goldman doesn't let his mask slip. And because he's acting unusually kind, I understand this is my chance to finally escape. I know what I'm about to do is dangerous. If Goldman catches me this time, I'll be killed. And if I'm killed, chances are, my mom will die, too. So, of course, what I'm about to do requires all my courage. It requires all my strength.

I can't fail this time!

Because if I fail, I'm done.

Taking a deep breath, I ask softly, "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Goldman and the woman look my way. Goldman suddenly sits up in the chair. I think he's surprised to hear me speak.

"It's down the hall. That way. Right past the kitchen," the woman directs.

I wait for Goldman's approval but I fear it won't come. Maybe, he'll drop the nice act and erupt into rage, killing the lady and attempting to rape me like he tried to do at his private home.

"Why do you need to go," he's suspicious already and this makes me worry.

I swallow hard before answering, "I have to piss."

He hesitates. I feel like I've been caught. It's possible he can see right through my act. God, I have to try and convince him.

"It'll be quick. Please, I really have to go." I unbuckle my belt, emphasizing my urgency.

"Keep your pants on!" Goldman suddenly glances at the woman, "I'm sorry about him. He's my nephew. The kid has no manners!" I'm shooed away like an unwanted child, "Just hurry up," he says coldly to me, "And don't take too long."


	11. The Escape

It feels like a thousand thoughts are pulsing through my mind. Out of all the thoughts, I keep thinking of my mom. I worry about how she felt after I rejected her over the phone. I think how running away, like I am right now, will certainly put her in danger. If I don't make it out of this, she's going to suffer and I fear it will be worse than my own fate. I don't want anything to happen to her, God knows I don't, but I have to do this. And if I do this, if I finally escape, maybe it's possible I can save us both.

Pacing myself, I scan the brightly lit hallway. It's strange but I notice framed pictures on the wall. Most of the photos are of the woman who is talking to Goldman. She appears happy and bubbly in all of them. Oddly, one frame causes me to stop in my tracks. I realize this woman has a son.

She is someone's mom.

I bit down on my lower lip, suppressing the urge to cry. I feel stupid. Looking at this picture shouldn't be my focus. It shouldn't mean anything to me. Yet, I can't seem to move from this spot. As bad as I need to get out of here, my feet seem frozen stiff.

If I leave, I'll truly risk everything. So, I have to decide is this really worth it. Maybe I can endure this for my mom's sake. I could numb myself. Perhaps block all the dread from my mind. I've never been raped before. No one has ever wanted to use me in that way. Still, I don't have to assume it would be horrendous because I know it would be. Then, to think, how many times would it happen. More than once a day? Would it go on for hours?

Could I…

Could I...really…

I wipe my eyes. Having these thoughts are destroying me. I can't believe I have to choose between such horror. How does anyone even make a choice like this?

"Hey, what's taking you so long," Goldman shouts.

Hearing his agitated voice forces me to instantly make a decision. I walk briskly down the hall. Thankfully, the bathroom is stationed on the top edge of this horse-shoe type passageway. The door is already open, so I simply reach behind the knob to lock it from the inside. That way, when Goldman comes to check, he'll believe I've locked myself inside. I'm hoping this will stale him.

The moment the door is locked, I wait in the blind spot. Goldman can't see me from either side since I'm standing in the middle, away from both the right and left sides of the hallway. With my back against the wall, I listen for Goldman's footsteps. I have to time this exactly. If I run out too early, he could spot me from the right and if I wait too late to move, he'll notice I'm not in the bathroom after all, and chances are, Goldman won't hesitate to end my life. And with everything depending on this moment, I have to make sure I make no mistakes.

"Scott!" I hear his heavy footsteps. He's coming but slowly. Immediately, I hold my breath. "Scott, you better find your fucking way over to me or I'm dragging your ass out of there."

Since he's not in front of that woman, I guess there's no need for his mask anymore. He's speaking to me just as he did before. His tone sounds infuriated, like he's burning with rage. I can't see his face but I can just imagine the tint of his eyes, the deep creases of his eyebrows, and the way his lips curve into a menacing scowl. It's the look of nightmares.

"Scott!"

Just as he turns the corner, I rush to the right. I have to catch myself from fainting because I swear for a second he saw me. I press my hand over my mouth and nose because I don't want him to hear. He takes slow steps to the door. His movements are so cautious, I feel like maybe he already knows. Maybe he heard my feet. Maybe he can hear me breathing!

I clamp down tighter on my mouth, trying my best to hold back any noise. Right now, I can't move. It's too quiet in the hallway. The moment Goldman hears my footsteps, he'll figure things out. I'll have to outrun him and I've learned already there's no way to outrun him when he's two feet away. I need a greater head start than that.

"Get out here," Goldman demands.

I shut my eyes.

"I said get out here. You think I'm playing games with you. Well, I'm not," he yanks the handle. "God damn it!"

Goldman starts to ram the door. The banging alerts the woman. I can hear her petite feet as she runs over to where Goldman is standing.

"What's wrong?"

"Damn idiot locked himself inside," Goldman explains, "Don't worry. I have a fucked up nephew but I'm going to straighten him up. Isn't that right, nephew!"

Straightaway, my instincts urge me to run. I open my eyes and take off down the hallway. Goldman's loud banging drowns out the sound of all my commotion. I swing open the woman's front door but gently close it, so as not to draw any attention back to the living room. The second the door is closed, I sprint down the corridor, not once do I look back.

As I charge down the hallway, up ahead, I spot the elevator. I can't believe I'm seeing it. I didn't even think I would get this far. Breathing heavy, I stand in front of the elevator. The display panel on the wall shows it's on the tenth floor.

Fuck!

I pace back and forth. It won't make it here in time. By now, I know Goldman has forced the bathroom door open. It's possible he's looking for me in every room, assuming I didn't leave the loft, since I made sure to keep the front door closed. Perhaps, there's a chance, Goldman will come to the conclusion I ran out and he's on his way here.

Quickly, I head further down the hallway, searching frantically for the stairs. Just as I suspected, there's a staircase but it's secured by a door. Without any hesitation, I grab the door handle and yank down, jerking it as hard as I can. The door, however, doesn't budge. I hastily scan the entire entrance and to my horror, there's a security feature on the door. It won't open without a card pass.

I can't believe this! This stupid place is worried about keeping bad people out, but what happens in an emergency! God, it doesn't make sense. I've come this far only to be shown a dead end. I can't even get out! There's no way I can go back to the loft. Even to steal her access card. The only choice I have is to wait on the elevator.

It's the only choice I have.


	12. Face Reality

The hallway is so silent, it's like there's no one here but me. I can't hear even the slightest noise of voices or movement. I hate to think it's just me and Goldman. That no matter how many people I come across, in the end, it will always be just us. There's something frightening in that thought. Because at one point, all I ever wanted was for me and him to be together. I had imagined we'd be happy and somehow he'd actually come to love everything about me.

But I was wrong…

Goldman hates me. I think that's why he's doing this. He must hate every fiber of my being. Up until the kidnapping, I didn't even realize it. All those years we worked together, I couldn't see beyond his perfectly placed mask. I was sure he cared about me. Maybe not in the sense of being lovers but he lead me to believe I meant something to him.

I was so sure of it!

"God," I cry into my palm. The wall beside me supports my sluggish body. The once silent hallway is now filled with my muffled cries. I've been trying my best to suppress my emotions but the pain of everything came suddenly, slamming directly down on my heart, and right now, I feel completely helpless. My body literally wants to curl itself into a ball on the floor.

Goldman isn't just hurting me physically. He's hurting me emotionally, too. And it's because I actually believed in him. I trusted everything he ever said. I can remember, at a time, his hands gave me comfort. I wanted him so bad, I'd even dream of him, his strong arms wrapped around my waist and his soft lips pressed to mine. He was suppose to be the guy I could proudly show to my mom.

Yet now, all those hopes are...

"Fuck," I punch the wall with my fist. Tears blur the sight of my bruised hand. "Why is he doing this to me?"

My body slides down the wall. I buckle under the pressure. I'm not prepared for any this. As bad as I need to run back to the elevator, I can't seem to find the strength. Truthfully, I worry once I get there, he'll be there. And then what will I do? I can't fight Goldman and yet, I can't keep running from him, either. He's determined to give me to Ron and to force me to have sex with different men. I don't think anything I say or do will change the outcome. All I can hope for is a quick ending. Perhaps it won't hurt so bad. Maybe I can endure it…

But my mom…

God, my mom.

What do I do about her?

"I can't," I look down, covering my face. "I can't just give up." I wail loudly.

"Oh, but you should."

Swiftly, I uncover my eyes and stare at the figure looming over me. It feels like all the blood rushes from my face. I'm incapable of moving an inch. Straightaway, I start to gasp for air. My chest rapidly falls and rises. What my eyes are seeing is the worst thing in the world. I don't want to believe I'm seeing him. It has to be an illusion. He's not really standing here!

"No," I scoot away using my hands to drag myself along the floor. "Don't come any closer. Just leave me alone, Goldman!"

"What happen to ice daddy," Goldman approaches slowly, his steps heavy and precise. "I suppose you're done with me, huh? Well, guess what, I feel the exact same way. I'm done with you, Scott. This is the end of the road for you."

He's done…

The end of the road…

I know what those words mean. So, this is it! This is truly my last and final chance of escape. And although I understand this could be the end, I still can't find my courage. Instead, my instincts flare inside of me. I quickly lift to flee to the nearest apt door on the right side of the hall. I bang on the entrance, praying someone answers.

"Please, help me," I shout. "Please!"

The commotion causes someone to open the door. A man cracks the entrance only a little but the small space is enough. I squeeze by him, hurrying to stand in the man's living room.

"Close the door," I shout.

The man is obviously confused. He's baffled a complete stranger has barged into his apartment and under normal circumstances, I know I wouldn't have ever done something so intrusive. However, nothing about this moment I'm enduring is normal.

"Hey, now. You just can't come in," he's infuriated. "I only wanted to stop you from knocking on my door. What the hell is-"

His question is interrupted by Goldman's bold intrusion. The door swings open, causing the apartment owner to swiftly jump back.

"What the hell," the owner throws up his hands, "Look, I have a wife and fucking kids. You can't just come into my place. Do you know how late it is?"

Goldman doesn't look away from me. It's like we're the only people in the room. The way he's staring reminds me why I fear him so much. My body starts to remember the sensation of his fist and how hard his knuckles felt as they collapsed my stomach. I start to remember the grimace expression on his face and the way his green eyes seemed to dominate and control me.

"Hey, you," the owner insults, "Yeah, you, whoever you are. I want you out!"

This man, this innocent man, doesn't know the person he's speaking to is a monster. The apartment owner can't possibly sense the type of danger we are both in. And I do mean the both of us because, although I hate to admit, I've involved another innocent person into this terrible nightmare. In no way, do I want what happened to David and the officer to happen him. He wouldn't deserve the pain. Hell, no one deserves such abuse but if he keeps pestering Goldman, this man will die just like everyone else...including me.

"He's dangerous," I warn, "You have to get your wife and kids out of here now!"

"I'm not leaving my home, you crazy asshole."

I glare, amazed at his bold stupidity. I'm trying to save his life and he's not even listening to me!

"He's right, Scott," Goldman closes the apartment door very slowly. My heart's tempo is like rapid fire. "He doesn't have to leave. The only person who's leaving is you."

"No," I shake my head defiantly, "I won't go, Goldman."

"Call me Goldman again," He flashes a ghastly smirk, "and see what happens. I dare you."

I swallow hard. Nothing comes from my mouth. My silence causes Goldman to laugh.

"See, I knew you knew better. Now here's the deal." Goldman lashes out at the apartment owner. He grabs him by the back of the neck, forcing the trembling man to bow his head and keep it down. The sight of the owner squirming under Goldman's strong hands deepens my terror.

"You either come with me or I kill him, his wife, and his kids. That means, Scott, I will strangle him to death right in front of you. Then, I will walk into the kitchen and grab a knife. And you know what I'll do next. I'll walk right into the bedroom where his wife sleeps and I'll cut her over and over again. Chance are, all her screaming will wake the kids and I'll force them to watch. They'll helpless watch their mom scream and beg for me to stop."

Goldman clasps down even harder on the man's neck. I listen as the owner whimpers quietly. "Then after I'm done with her, I force you to have a go. You'll do it because if you don't, I slice little Billy's fucking fingers off one by-"

"STOP," I scream.

I can't take it anymore. Listening to him, actually hearing the horror he's capable of, destroys me. It kills me from the inside. He doesn't even have to touch me. The power Goldman has over my consciousness is incomprehensible. It's like he knows the things to say to force my hand. I could never let him hurt someone the way he just described. I hate what happened to David and the officer. I even blame myself for their death. So, there's no way in hell, I can let what happened to them, also happen to this family.

"I'll..." I pause because the words are so hard to say. "I'll...go with you," I reluctantly agree.

"Good. I'm glad you've come to see things my way." Goldman suddenly punches the owner in the stomach. The man loudly groans just as he falls to his knees.

"Now, get your ass over here and let's head back to the loft."

I take my time walking over to Goldman. As I approach, I notice his smirk widens. He reaches out and grabs my forearm, forcing me over more quickly.

"Go ahead," He sneers while bending slightly to my eye level.

I tremble against his powerful hand. I don't know what he wants me to say.

"Well," he jerks my arm hard, causing me to almost fall over.

"I don't-" before I can finish, he smacks my face.

"Firstly, you lied to me. Then, you ran from me. This is your second time running from me, by the way! And to top it all off, you caused me a lot of fucking trouble. So you must know exactly what needs to be said!"

I rub my throbbing cheek but Goldman stops my attempt of trying to sooth the bruise. He forces my hand back down to my side.

"Well, say it or I'll do something you really won't like, Scott."

I keep my head low and my eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, what?" He corrects sternly.

I suppress the pain that feels like it's burning my throat. I take a deep breath and answer quietly, "I'm sorry, ice daddy."

Goldman pushes me to the exit. He closes the man's door. It's just as if nothing ever happened. I hear no outrage or concerned cries from neighbors. The only sound I hear is our footsteps. It seems like, no matter how hard I try, everything I do will lead me back to him.

"I want things to be clear between us," Goldman walks behind me. His voice is low and threatening. " The little stunt you pulled can't go unpunished. So, when we get back to that woman's place, I'm going to teach you a lesson in one of her bedrooms. If you even scream or make a noise while I'm doing it, I'll gut you right on her bed. Then after I'm done, I'm taking you to Ron and he'll have his way with you, too. And finally," I can hear the coldness lacing his tone. "I'm going to kill you. Because like I said earlier, I'm done with you, Scott."


	13. Punishment

I'm shoved forward, right through the entrance of the very place I tried so hard to escape from. None of what's happening makes sense to me. I guess the reason might be because I was willing to believe in a higher power. I thought for sure, that when innocent people try their best, the outcome is in their favor. It's the evil person who is always punished.

I suppose I have to keep reminding myself...

A divine miracle isn't going to happen…

No one is going to come rushing in to save me. I'm not going to acquire super human strength and take down Goldman. The reality is I'm weak and scared. I don't know how to fight. I can't use a gun. I can barely handle a knife. In other words, I'm the perfect victim.

I'll admit, before all this, before even working for Goldman, I was no one anyway. I might have had a car, a job, and an apartment, but I was mostly a loner, except for when I'd hang out with my mom. The real tragedy was the fact I didn't want to live alone but I didn't know how to make connections to others. It was mainly because I feared people wouldn't accept me. Especially when they found out I was gay. I figured it was better to keep everyone at a distance.

That's until I met Goldman…

Within a minute of being in his presence, I wanted to change my entire existence. I wanted to be braver. I wanted to be more open. I actually started to believe there was someone out there for me. That it was possible I could actually be like everyone else.

It was all a lie!

I should have never opened myself to anyone. I let my guard down and this nightmare is my punishment for believing Goldman would ever respect and love me.

"You finally found your nephew," the woman closes the front door. I can tell she's nervous by the way she clenches the front of her robe, " Where was he?"

Goldman answers, "Near the stairs."

"Do you need anything," she offers politely while stepping closer to us.

"Yes," I'm suddenly grabbed by the forearm, "I have to give my nephew his medication but he'll need food. If you could run out and get him something to eat, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course," she doesn't hesitate. Her willingness reminds me of the days I'd agree to Goldman without question.

"And we'll need one of your rooms," he adds.

"That won't be a problem," the woman points and I follow the direction of her finger. "The first door on the right is the guest room. You can use it. I'm going to change in my room and be right out. Just hang tight."

I want to scream to her not to leave me. I wish I could tell this lady everything that's happened. However, doing so would only place her in danger. The fact is, she's weak—weaker than me. One punch from his fist would be enough. I imagine he'd kill this woman in less than a minute and just because I tried to seek safety from her, he'd end my life the same way. The most she could do is scream for help.

"Go wait for me in the bedroom," Goldman orders.

There's a tight tension in his eyes. The gaze he gives is piercing and strong. I want to say no but I'm in fear of what my rejection might make him do to me. Instead, I nod and head toward the guest bedroom. As I walk, I can feel his eyes watching my every move. Even when I'm not near him, I can still sense his closeness. His presence is like a haunting spirit, lurking and swaying behind me.

"And have your clothes off by the time I come in."

All at once, I stop at the door with my hand on the knob. "Please," I lower my head, "I don't want―."

The woman walks out from the bedroom. I'm interrupted by her reappearance. I don't turn to look but I can hear her conversing with Goldman.

"Will you be alright," she innocently questions.

"Yes, we'll be fine," I listen to the ruffle of his clothes. "For your troubles."

"Oh, no," the woman politely declines, "I'll use the money I have. The food shouldn't be much. Anyway, you just worry about your nephew and get him calmed down. I know a thing or two about mental illness in the family. My uncle was bipolar."

I'm humiliated. I understand she doesn't really know me, but still, it's painful to think this lady actually believes I'm mentally ill. I guess I shouldn't be too upset. It's not her fault. Goldman is very convincing.

"I'll take good care of him," he assures her. After a minute, I hear the front door close.

I realize we're alone now. And God, I've never been so terrified. There's absolutely nothing I can do. Everything has boiled down to this point. All my crying, shouting, running away, and fighting should have led me to somewhere else―somewhere safe, but in the end, everything I've done so far has only brought me to this door.

"Go inside." Goldman approaches, his footsteps are the only sound heard in the room.

So that he doesn't have a chance to shove me, I quickly obey his command. I open the door and hurry to stand away from the entrance. As expected, he steps in smoothly while glancing around casually at the items in the bedroom. Something catches his attention. He moves over to a brown, wooden dresser and begins to open the drawers, scanning their contents. He stops suddenly. From the third drawer, he pulls out a small container. The top pops up and he squirts an oily lotion into his palm.

"Just what I was looking for," Goldman kicks the bottom drawer closed with his foot. He moves easily across the room, shortening the distances between us.

"Please. Please, ice daddy," I can't stop trembling. The terror inside has become so great, even my lower lip is shaking.

"No, that won't work little birdie," Goldman tosses the lotion to the bed. "But I'm pleased to hear my name roll off your pretty little tongue again. Now, we can either do this the hard way." He slides his business jacket down from his shoulders. "Or we can do it the easy way. I'm only going to tell you once to take off your clothes. So. Well. Take off your clothes."

"Please," I beg, "Don't do this to me."

"Scott, I happen to think you like doing things the hard way. Am I right?"

Goldman rushes forward and grabs both shoulders. The rage, although absent from his face, is felt strongly in his touch. He tears my shirt right down the force of his hands causes me to collapse onto the bed. I shake beneath him. My entire body is helpless to the attack. I thought for sure I could at least scream but even my mouth won't move. I feel like curling into a ball and dying right here. That's how much this hurts. That's how bad I don't want this.

"You were such a good boy at the office, remember? I had you perfectly trained. Now look at you! I have to fight you so damn much."

I clench my arm muscles, bracing my body for what he's about to do next. Goldman unfastens my silver belt buckle. The pants aren't tight, so it takes him nothing to yank them off and throw them to the floor.

"What happen, huh? What happen to the man who couldn't wait to see me everyday? Do you remember how eager you were? And how you would do anything for me."

I'm swiftly grabbed by the chin. His grip is tight and forceful. Horrified by his touch, I squeeze my eyes closed.

"Look at me," He breathes the words slowly.

I keep my eyes closed.

"Look at me, Scott," he demands.

I shake my head because I'm too afraid to look at him.

"I said look at me!" His strong hand suddenly squeezes my throat. Within seconds, I'm opening my eyes once I realize I can barely breathe.

"There you go. See, you always like things the hard way," Goldman gradually loosens his grip. "When I ask you to do something, just do it next time and that way I don't have to hurt you."

As I struggle for air, while being flattened beneath him, I think about the words he said. That if I just listen and do what he wants, then he won't hurt me. Yet, what he wants me to do will hurt. So, I have to decide whether to let him hurt me this way or hurt me another way.

"I want you to watch," Goldman slides my boxers down. "And you'll beg me while I do it. You'll say, ice daddy I want you. And you'll moan it. Because I like when my boys beg for my cock, so you'll beg for it."

"I can't." I stare into his dark, green eyes. "Please."

"You can. And you will," he strokes the length of my inner thigh, moving upward, little by little. "You'll do exactly as I tell you or I will hurt you severely."

His threat brings me to tears. From the very beginning, when I realized Goldman wouldn't let me go, I feared this moment. In the back of my mind, it lurked in the shadows, warning me that it was only a matter of time. And everything I've done was in hopes of stopping this. Yet, it's happening. This terrible horrible thing is happening to me and I need to stop it.

"Don't," I cry.

"Then, do as I say," he grips my leg and spreads me forcibly. "Tell me you want me. Moan it with that nice gentle voice of yours and I promise I'll go easy on you."

"But I can't," my heart thumps loudly. I can barely breathe straight. It feels like I'm losing control. "Please, will you listen. Just listen."

"No, you listen!" Goldman looms over my trembling body with his eyes narrowed and his white teeth clenched tight.

"I'll do anything else for you. Anything else," I whimper. "Please. Please. I'm begging you. I'll do anything. But not this. Please."

"You always want it the hard way." To my complete horror, Goldman flips me over. Then, he lifts my hips but keeps my head pressed down onto the bedding. Immediately, I squirm in his grasp but he's strong enough to hold me in place.

God, no! This can't be happening...

"Go ahead," Goldman whispers against my ear. "Tell me you want me, Scott. I'll give you one more chance."

No.

No…

NO!

I won't let him do this.

Not here...

Not now...not ever!

"I don't want you, Goldman," I scream loudly. "I hate you! I hate everything about―."

Before I can finish, he punches me, causing my bottom lip to gush forth blood. The punch was so hard, it takes my vision a minute to adjust. And just when I'm seeing him clearly, Goldman right hooks my face again but this time, much harder. I wail loudly. The pain is literally indescribable. My body has never felt such enormous agony.

Not long after the second hit, Goldman strikes again but now the blows are coming in one after the other. Again and again, he beats my face against the mattress, flinging coats of my blood everywhere. I can feel its thickness sliding down my lips and dripping onto my naked chest. I can even taste the blood; it's bitter copper on the seat of my tongue. I gag and cough, trying hard not to choke on all of the blood that seems to flood into my mouth.

My instincts are desperately attempting to fight but I don't want to keep going. Goldman was right when he said this was the end of the road for me. I'm going to die here. Right here in this bedroom. I'm scared. And everything hurts. Goldman has punched me so many times, both my eyes are swollen shut. I can't see him but I can hear how hard he's breathing on top of me.

Suddenly, my hair is grabbed and I'm pulled to sit upright at the waist. Then, I feel his hard fist collapse my stomach. I groan as I lean forward, guarding myself from another vicious attack. Goldman pushes aside my hands and slams his fist into my gut again. I cough up blood, spilling a small pool of it onto my lap.

I can't take anymore!

"Just kill me," I gurgle the words, barely able to say them.

Right after I've pleaded for death, Goldman punches me again. I fall backwards, slamming hard against the mattress. I start to choke on the blood in my mouth. Soon, I feel a heaviness pressed on my lungs. It's almost like everything is starting to fade into darkness.

Am I dying?

God, I think I am.


	14. Deeper He Goes

Air quickly fills my lungs as I lift upright. I look around, astonished by my surroundings. What I'm seeing doesn't seem real. I'm in a massive room decorated with furniture and crisp, white linen. To my left is a wide window with its blinds lifted and the curtains spread apart, allowing a bright light to flood the entire room.

"Where... Where am I?"

A voice, I never heard, answers, "It's okay. You're safe."

I turn to peer at the person sitting at my bedside. Seeing him sends me into a frenzy of terror. Quickly, I reach for his forearm and squeeze it tightly.

"Please. Please, help me!"

The man reaches forward to tenderly pat my hand, "You're okay. Just calm down."

"No," my grip tightens, "you don't understand. Please, you have to help me get out of here."

"I'm not the one to decide that,"the ease of his voice subsides.

His unwillingness to help is frightening. I yank aside the white sheets, desperate to escape the bed it seems he's placed me in. The second I start moving, a startling sound echoes through my ears. I stare down at my legs, horrified at the heavy metal clamped around my right ankle.

"What is this?" I cautiously inspect the chain, praying somehow it isn't real, "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing," is the relaxed answer. I turn to watch his every move, suspicious of his serene demeanor. "I've been taking care of you for the last few days."

He gently removes my hand in order to stand beside the bed. I take note of his appearance. He's clean shaven with wavy, short brown hair. I notice his gray eyes aren't harsh or demanding. I want to assume he's around my age because he's wearing dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt with Nike sneakers.

"Honestly, you came here with both your eyes swollen and bruises on your face and body. And not to be mean or anything but you looked a mess."

After everything I've been through, I guess my mind has certainly been forced to assume the worse. The moment I laid eyes on him, I believed he was here only to hurt me. I swear I was ready put up a wall over my entire self, in order to keep from being abused again. I was going to make sure to resist because I know not to trust anyone.

No one can be trusted anymore...

However, after everything he's said, I'm left feeling both confused and frightened. Why would he help me? Why would he bother to nurse me back to health? I guess if this man was truly evil, he would have let me die and thought nothing of the incident.

Still, I know not to let my guard down...

"What happen to me," I examine myself, carefully touching the bandage wrapped around my abdomen.

"I was hoping you could fill in the blanks," I concentrate on his slow footsteps, "I really don't know much. Ice daddy only told me to take care of you. So, I did."

Ice daddy…

Straightway, I clench the white sheets in my hands. Just his name alone strikes dread to my entire body. My mind begins to remember the pain of his punches. I can even feel the roughness of his hand as he slammed his hard knuckles against my jaw. The worst is the thought of him positioned behind me, my boxers pulled down around my ankles, and the horrible feeling of his lips pressed against my ear.

Ice daddy…

Immediately, I'm struggling for air. My heart is beating so fast. Why does it feel like I can't breathe? What's happening to me? My hand quickly presses against my heart. The damn thing won't calm down. It's beating unnaturally quick and I feel like I can't control it.

"Hey," the man rushes over, "Whoa. You have to calm down for me!"

"I can't breathe," I panic.

My hands are starting to quiver. What feels like pins and needles attacks the length of my fingers and palms. The terrifying sensation accelerates my heart's tempo even more. Within seconds, I'm grabbing the corner of the mattress, desperate to get up and over to the window.

The man holds me to the bed, "Listen. You're having a panic attack. Breathe for me. Just take deep breaths."

"No," I gasp. "No..stop! Please..No."

I can feel his hands traveling to my shoulders. He pulls me to his strong chest. The closeness brings my fear to a place it has never been before. I struggle in his arms, tossing and turning to get him away. He cradles me, rocking my body back and forth, attempting to soothe the turmoil.

"Feel my heartbeat. Feel how I'm breathing. Try to match mine," he patiently whispers, "Look, I know you are afraid but I'm right here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Just follow my breathing and heartbeat."

He holds me tighter. I fight even harder.

"Relax. Breathe like me. Listen to my heartbeat. I promise you, you're okay. I got you."

His large hands caress my back. I timidly twitch in his arms.

"There you go. Follow my lead. Breathe. Nice and slow. Deep breaths in and out. This will pass, you just have to allow it to."

His hands slide down my back and eventually come to rest around my waist. I'm finally sitting upright, calmly staring into his gray eyes.

"Better?" The question makes me feel embarrassed. I look down to stare at my lap.

"Yes," I softly reply. I doubt he even heard me.

"What brought that scare about," He lifts from the mattress. My silence causes him to ask another question, "You're afraid of him, aren't you?"

This time I look up to meet his gentle gaze. He seems concerned and I'm shocked this complete stranger is actually treating me kindly. This entire time he hasn't hurt me or said anything cruel.

Still, I can't let my guard down...

"He's done awful things to me," I admit.

"You're the first guy I've ever seen him this pissed at," he tends to a bowl of water stationed on top of a wooden dresser. "What did you do to make him so mad?"

"Nothing," I insist. "He invited me to his place and before I knew it, I found myself unable to get away from him."

The man squeezes water out of a small, blue towel. He hangs the cloth on the edge of the dresser. "That's weird. Guys don't normally want to get away from him. At least not the guys I know. You're the first to claim you had a bad experience with...Well, I won't say his name because I don't want you to freak out again. But, I don't know, to hear you say all this just seems really strange to me."

All of a sudden, I'm reminded of the time Goldman claimed he knew men who would die to be in my shoes. When he said this to me the first time, I swore he'd been lying. I figured no one in their right mind would want to be in Goldman's company. I was wrong. The person standing beside me is prove that I was wrong. From the way he speaks about Goldman, I can assume their relationship isn't an awful one. It's almost like this man believes I'm making everything up.

"Then tell me how you two met," I slowly move to sit at the edge of the bed. A sharp pain shoots up my spine.

God, why did I think my body would move smoothly!

"Take it easy," he warns. Once he notices I've moved back to my original position, the man comes over to sit beside me. His presence causes me to feel strange. I don't know what to make of him.

Is a good person?

Or a bad person pretending to be good?

"I was invited to his apartment. The same way as you, I suppose," his hand reaches for the sheets. He covers my lower half, just at the bridge of my waist. "A guy came over suddenly and-"

"Luther," I blurt out.

He nods, "Yeah, that fat bastard."

His dislike for Luther gains my attention.

"He pointed a gun at me. Said he'd kill me. Then, you know who steps in. I'm shoved into his room where he tells me to take off my clothes. I do it. I take my clothes off-"

"But you fight him, right?" I'm hanging onto his every word. As we stare at each other, the man suddenly raises his brow, visibly perplexed by my response.

"No," he corrects, "We have sex. It was good. I mean, I was scared but I wanted...you know who...for a long time. A very long time. We worked with one another for awhile and every day, I thought about us being together."

"I don't understand," a tight tension grips my throat, "you let him rape you?"

The man nervously laughs, "What? No! I wasn't raped. Whoa, is that how you felt?"

I don't respond.

"Let me guess, you haven't had sex with him at all. Have you?"

I shake my head. My hands are starting to tremble. I don't know why he'd ask me such a strange question. Of course, I haven't! What Goldman wants to do to me isn't sex. It's torture.

"Wow. Just wow," he pats my shoulder, "You're a first among many. This isn't like him. Like seriously. I've been knowing him for awhile now, and well, he's pretty firm on certain stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll discuss it later," he stands. "Since you're up and talking, tell me what you'd like to eat. For the last few days I've been feeding you applesauce and Gatorade, or whatever I could get down your throat without you choking to death."

The second he mentions food my stomach growls. I'm embarrassed the rumble from my gut was the loudest noise heard in the room.

"So, what will it be," he questions energetically. "I'm not a bad cook, if that's what you're worried about."

His niceness leaves me speechless.

"Okay. How does this sound? How about chicken, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese," his smile is good-natured.

I merely nod as an answer and then, out of nowhere, he starts to chuckle.

" Your silence says it all. Look, I'm a good cook. I promise."

I nod again but keep silent. I'm not letting my guard down. He maybe a nice guy but so was Goldman. Just because people are nice, doesn't mean their intentions are good.

"Oh and my name is King, by the way," he heads for the door. His back is facing me. "You know who calls me King but my real name is Tyler."

King turns to me before leaving, "Anyway, you may not like this but the chain only lets you move around in this room. You know who wanted it this way. But you have a bathroom and t.v. You also have me. I'm right down the hall. I'm pretty much your helper until otherwise told, so I'll cook you breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Get your clothes. Do laundry. Go shopping for you. Plus, I know you're scared out of your mind right now but seriously, I only want to help."

Something he says catches my attention. "King?"

He stares, as if shocked to finally hear my voice again. "Yeah?"

I hesitant for a few moments, fearful of asking the question but eventually, I summon what's left of my courage. "What if I want to leave?"

"Like I said before, it's not up to me."

I listen to his footsteps, as he departs from the doorway. Although I don't think King will actually hurt me, I'm still afraid. I want to know where I am and why Goldman let me live. And most of all, I want to know what's happened to my mom.

* * *

 

TBC...


End file.
